


On the Clock

by Fuzziestpuppy



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Class Differences, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, Like From The Very Start, M/M, Mention of Stalking, Mild Kink, Mutual Pining, Power Imbalance, Prostitution, Sex Work, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-08-09 23:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzziestpuppy/pseuds/Fuzziestpuppy
Summary: AJ Gale's clientele are more lonely than anything, which is definitely not what he expected when he first started working as…well, whatever you want to call it.  A hooker, a whore, an escort.  Rent-boy.  A prostitute in other words, trading sex for pay.  It's mostly bored housewives, but he does have one regular male client.  A guy so extravagantly strange that he would really rather drop him, but he pays as much as the rest combined.Every month like clockwork, ‘Pagan’ will send him a text, never a call.  And AJ has about thirty minutes to get over to his pricey penthouse suite, because Pagan will bereadyfor him by the time he gets there.





	1. The Usual

**Author's Note:**

> The Sexworker AU that nobody asked for but everyone's getting, and I have no idea why. Muses work in mysterious ways.
> 
> I included the 'Stalking' tag just in case someone might be bothered by that, but it's really mild.
> 
> Thank you, [brokibrodinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson), [BunnyMoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyMoss/pseuds/BunnyMoss), and [Thegirlnamedhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegirlnamedhawk/pseuds/Thegirlnamedhawk) for being such wonderful beta readers. You guys really are the best.

***

It’s mostly that they’re just lonely, AJ Gale has found.

Definitely not what he expected, when he first started working as…well, whatever you want to call it. A hooker, a whore, an escort. Rent-boy. A prostitute in other words, trading sex for pay.

What he had expected was a bunch of bored, randy housewives, and in the few years he’s been doing this he’s gotten plenty of those, sure. He’s been doing it long enough to have a _specialty,_ and for those women whose husbands are neglectful in the bedroom, he applies a little lube, a square of cling film, and gets to work. Those kinds of guys _never_ do oral, and he’s in high demand.

But a lot more of them just want…someone to talk to. Someone to listen to them, and he does a lot of that, too. A lot of women tell him he’s a fantastic listener, but that’s not really true. He’s there to do a job, and it often involves sitting there and nodding at the right times and making a sympathetic noise or two while he sips at the tea or coffee they make him in some surreal parody of a date.

That’s fine with him. He’s not into fucking or getting fucked, women _or_ men, and hasn’t had to in a while now. He only has one regular male client, and he’s the only one that even comes close to it.

Kind of. It’s weird.

The guy himself is so extravagantly strange that he would really rather drop him, but he pays as much as the rest combined. Even the fake name the guy uses is weird. Every month like clockwork, ‘Pagan’ will send him a text, never a call. And AJ has about thirty minutes to get over to his pricey penthouse suite, because Pagan will be ready for him by the time he gets there.

In fact, that’s what he’s doing now, heading over there in a cab, which he only uses for Pagan visits because it costs way too much. He’s clean, doesn’t do drugs, lives a frugal life, and that gives him way more control in this job of his. He can afford to be picky. But what Pagan pays covers his rent entirely and then some, so maybe not _too_ picky.

The first time they met, he sat down with Pagan and went over the game plan. He had laid out his exacting rules for how their encounters were going to go, the ones that keep him safe. Exactly what his money would buy him, exactly what he would and wouldn’t do. And Pagan had crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on his knee and thought it over for so long he started to get antsy. And then named _his_ terms and his price, which was _exorbitant,_ and had asked if that was acceptable. And he’d jumped on it. Way too good to turn down.

When he gets over there and rings the doorbell, Pagan greets him like usual.

“Oh, it’s AJ! Come in, come in!” He always greets him the same way, like they’re old friends. Big smile, a squeeze of his upper arms. As is the routine, he’s wearing that same pink bathrobe. As is the routine, he’s already hard under it, his face flushed, _ready._

“The usual?” AJ always asks, and the answer is always the same.

“Of course! You know where everything is.”

And so he goes and gets the dildo and the lube out of the antique chest of drawers in the living room. Also a bizarre place to keep it, but the bedroom’s off-limits. In a year, he’s never even seen it. He retrieves his tools as Pagan slips out of his robe and arranges himself on his knees in front of the glass coffee table, spreads himself out on it, ass in the air, and waits.

AJ doesn’t even have to do the prep work.

This particular dildo vibrates, so he squirts some of the fancy slick on it, fires it up, and approaches him. He’s already lubed up and loosened up and it’s not any kind of a huge dildo or anything, and when he slides it in slow and careful there’s not much resistance.

Pagan never makes a sound. Never pushes back into it when he starts pumping it in and out of him. The only reaction he ever gets are his big freckled hands clenching on the edges of the table when he hits just the right angle. After four or five minutes of this, like usual, he speaks up.

“That’s enough now.”

And that’s his cue to switch it off and pull it out of him and set it down on the hand towel that Pagan always lays out on top of that dresser.

He never comes, and AJ has never even touched his bare skin. He doesn’t _want_ to come, for some unknown reason. Once, early on, he’d naturally reached around with a slick hand and Pagan had twisted up off that table so fast, had whipped around and gripped his wrist like a fucking steel band. There was a glint of steel in his dark eyes as well, none of that unctuous friendliness then, oh no.

‘Now now, none of that, my boy,’ was all he had said, and let him go with a little pat at his hand. Maybe in apology, since he’d left a ring of bruises. Bizarre. The whole procedure is so strange, and he has no idea what he _gets_ out of paying two grand to get his prostate buzzed for five minutes every month.

Pagan peels his sweating chest off the glass and gets to his feet and pulls his robe back on, so hard it looks almost painful. He wants to ask, _do you finish yourself off after I leave? Surely you could have just about anybody you wanted in here to do anything you liked without having to pay for it._ And that’s true, he’s in great shape for late forties or however old he is. Could be a little younger, a little older; it looks to him like he might have had a rough life. A lot of scars. But a nice broad chest and shoulders all the same, _good_ looking ass, face not bad either.

They’ve been doing this for a year, and the curiosity is admittedly starting to get to him. The whole business, the…

“Why,” he blurts, and _shit._

“Why what, dear boy,” he says, so calmly, even as he’s flushed all up his chest and throat, spots of color on his high cheekbones, and the outline of his hard cock way apparent through the material of the robe. AJ glances down. That’s not bad either. In fact, it’s pretty damn nice, which just adds to the confusion.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Now that the word is out in the open, he can’t seem to articulate it in a way that won’t cause offense. ‘Don’t you want an actual dick in your ass from time to time? Don’t you _want_ to blow your load?’ are definitely not tactful things to say.

Pagan takes hold of his elbow and steers him for the door like usual.

“I think I understand,” he says, breaking their script. “And the answer is, you are such a good and attentive fellow. You give me exactly what I want, just how I want it, when I want it. You listen to _instructions,_ and that, my boy, is worth quite a bit to me.” Pagan smiles happily as he tucks a wad of cash, produced from his robe pocket into his own jeans as he propels him out the door, also gently.

“Ta, until next time!” Cheerful as all hell, and the door closes.

He stands there and blinks, a little weirded out as usual. But some impulse has him pressing his ear to the door as he imagines Pagan touching himself, stroking one out and taking care of that fairly impressive hardon. He listens for moaning, for any clue what that weird fucker is doing in there.

Nothing. Dead silence. He backs away with his hands in his pockets, two thousand dollars richer for five minutes worth of work.

And that’s how it goes during their sessions together. It couldn’t be any more impersonal, unless he tied that damn dildo to a stick and fucked him from across the room with it, or hung a sheet between them with a hole cut in it, like some medical procedure. Clinical. That would be a good word to describe it, if it weren’t for the fact that Pagan’s obviously turned on during it.

The next time, he pushes his luck a little more. After Pagan tells him that’s enough of him boredly pumping this dildo in and out of him, and he’s robed again, he asks another question. This one actually thought out a little beforehand.

“I gotta ask…are you _sure_ you don’t want me to get you off? I mean, that kind of comes with the pricetag, you know.”

Pagan stares at him for a moment with that glint of steel back in his eye.

“Is that something you care about, one way or the other? Is it necessary for a sense of…hmm…_job satisfaction_ for you?”

And he thinks that over. He senses that Pagan will be honest with him just as long, and only as long, as he’s honest right back.

“Not really,” he has to admit.

“Then there’s your answer. No.” And with a jovial smile and a clap on his shoulder he’s pushed out the door.

***


	2. A Break in the Routine

***

Roughly a month passes of him spending time with lonely older women and eating them out when their husbands aren’t around. Thanks to the Pagan gig, he can stuff most of the money he earns from them right into his savings account.

When he’s not doing that he sits in his tiny apartment, eating cereal and looking over college brochures. He’s already twenty-seven, not like he can do this shit forever. Or that he’d fucking _want_ to, even though he’s carved out a pretty nice niche market for himself, between the housewives and Pagan the Strange. Doesn’t have to take it up the ass anymore, or stick his dick where he doesn’t want to, or let anybody jizz in his mouth, no. He gets to vet the clients and turn down the truly messed up ones. Pagan’s just really eccentric, compared to some of the jackasses he dealt with a few years ago, when he was first starting out and figuring out how to keep himself safe. He works with an agency now that takes a cut to field a lot of that stuff for him, and while that’s technically a pimp setup in his mind, at least it’s one that comes with insurance and an employer-matched savings program.

No, he’s going to go to school just as soon as he gets a nice little nest egg saved up, like Mom wanted him to. She’d die all over again if she knew what he was doing for a living…but for guys like him, uneducated and poor and definitely not white, it’s not like there’s a load of options. And shoving a fake silicone cock up a dude is way better than dealing, you have to admit.

It’s not her fault, that he grew up with nothing and in shit neighborhoods. He doesn’t blame her for that at all. He knows there was some really bad stuff that went down in Kyrat that she had to get away from, stuff that was so bad she didn’t, maybe couldn’t talk about. War and his probably abusive dad that he learned not to ask questions about and who knows what all else.

Still a better life here; better poor in the first world than poor in the third, that’s for sure.

When Pagan texts him that evening, requesting his services, he showers and changes into a decent shirt. Not that it really matters, but he still likes to be neat and presentable for work. Thinking of it as _The Job_ keeps things nice and delineated in his mind. He really could do way worse than Pagan. He feels fairly safe with him, the job’s routine, and the only hitch has been that one time when he grabbed his wrist. And that was his completely his fault, for not asking first. No idea what he was thinking, he knows better than that.

Except, this time when he arrives, things are _not_ routine. Pagan lets him in, and instead of the usual bathrobe he’s all shined up. Flashy suit, his bleach blond hair all fixed, wearing makeup. Mascara, eyeshadow, the works. AJ stares, he can’t help it. He’s just _so fucking strange._ Maybe this is his everyday look, what he looks like when he’s not flushed and hard as a rock under that bathrobe or spread out on the coffee table like some kind of bizarre entrée.

He’s also arguing with someone over the phone. Loudly, stridently. He figures an interruption from the rent-boy would probably be less than ideal, so he entertains himself by looking at the art on the walls of Pagan’s swanky apartment, a big open floor plan loft kind of thing. Lots of glass and brick and steel fixtures. It’s on the top floor of this building, the kind of place where you need a code to get the elevator to go anywhere. He examines a painting that’s just a lot of dark red and yellow paint, pushed around in a pattern that he can’t discern the meaning of. Probably cost a fortune. He turns when he hears Pagan’s glossy shoes clicking their way towards him.

“So sorry about all of that, I just got caught up in a business call. Don’t move, my boy, I’ll be right back. No more than ten minutes,” as he heads back towards his bedroom. Within a minute, he can hear the sound of water running distantly, like he’s gotten in the shower.

With a sigh, he eases himself down onto the most comfortable couch he’s ever sat on, all buttery leather and soft, _soft_ stuffing as he watches the city lights from the big floor to ceiling windows, up here at the top of the world. Why doesn’t Pagan want to be done on _this_ thing, instead of the hard, chilly as fuck glass table? Is the point to make it as uncomfortable as possible?

While he’s pondering the possible implications of that, Pagan breezes back in wearing his usual number and the makeup washed off. The only difference is that his hair is still damp.

“Again, so sorry for that,” he says with a cheery little grin. “All ready now!”

And damn if he isn’t, as AJ glances down. He dutifully goes and gets the stuff from the chest of drawers as Pagan settles in for his enhanced ass exam, but there’s something that’s just…different about today. Maybe it’s the disruption in routine, or the way the muscles in his back flex as he shrugs out of the robe and tosses it on the couch. But as he spreads himself out on that cool glass, he finds himself…wanting to change the routine even more.

“Can I touch you,” but it comes out louder than he meant it to and he winces a little. Great.

Silence. Pagan has his head turned in such a way so that they’re not looking at each other, and he wishes he could see his expression.

Finally, he says softly, “I suppose that depends on where.”

“Just your back.” Flushed with heat from the shower and his arousal, it looks like it would be very nice to touch, pale skin pinkened up and scattered with freckles. Kind of a novelty on an Asian guy. Although between those freckles and his height and that posh British accent of his, he figures he’s probably half and half.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he has to admit. “I just kind of want to. It looks…nice.”

“Nice,” Pagan says flatly while he shrugs, not that Pagan can see it. And then, very quietly, “Go ahead then, if you like.”

He sets the stuff down beside Pagan on the table and moves around to the side, where Pagan turns his head further, studiously _not_ looking at him. That’s fine, whatever. His hands are already clenched on the table’s edge.

When he brings his own hands down and runs them gently along his back, it turns out that Pagan’s skin is just as warm and velvety as it looks. Although the muscles are all hard, locked up tight as goosebumps follow that sweep of his hands.

“Hey, just relax, okay? It’s okay…” as he rubs a little. Such a fucking weirdo, but maybe he’s been beaten or traumatized or…something. He decides to just work on him for a little bit if he’ll let him, instead of rushing directly into their five-minute main event.

As he rubs at his shoulders Pagan starts to loosen up minutely, becoming more pliant under his hands as he sweeps his thumbs up the back of his neck on either side, working that tension out. The short, stubbly dark hair on the back of his head is an interesting texture against his fingers, and as he works his way down his spine with his thumbs Pagan relaxes enough to let those big hands of his fall open, the backs of them brushing against the carpet as he lets his arms dangle. Good.

AJ has no idea why he wants to do this, but he’s getting a little lost in it himself, in the feel of warm skin under his hands. Ages since he’s really _touched_ somebody else. Definitely not something he typically does with clients, a little too friendly for his tastes, but it really does seem like the guy could use it. It’s such a small thing, just a back rub, and this dude absolutely doesn’t get his money’s worth.

Pagan’s relaxed enough now that his torso rolls a little with the force of his strokes. Maybe all he needs is to be pushed just the tiniest bit. If he doesn’t want his cock messed with of course he won’t, or put his hands anywhere but where he’s explicitly told it’s okay to. But maybe…maybe he can get him to come without it, if he can get him relaxed enough, get him eager and lost enough in it that he might forget about being Mr. Stoic and just _go_ with it for a fucking change.

Maybe he does care a little, despite what he told Pagan. Part curiosity, part guilt for taking so much of his money for so little in return. Maybe. Or something.

Perhaps a little dirty talk? Just a little? He’s nearly limp under his hands now. AJ leans over him to murmur in the shell of his ear all hot and sultry, making sure to let his breath brush warmly over it.

“So how do you get yourself all ready for me? Tell me about it, what you do.”

And the effect is instantaneous as his back knots right back up again, stiff and hard with tension, and not the good kind. His hands come up in a white-knuckled grip on the edges of the table as he stills his own but doesn’t remove them.

“First I give myself a good hosing out with the shower attachment, then I jam my fingers into my own asshole until I’m in the shamefully aroused state you see now. Is that what you wanted to know, boy?” Harsh, brutal, the words spat out like they were forced from between his clenched teeth.

“Jesus okay…shit, sorry that I asked,” he says in consternation. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “Just…no misguided attempts at seduction, if you please.”

“Do you want me to stop touching you?”

A longer silence this time.

“…no. Not unless you want to.” Pagan sighs, a rough-edged sound as he sags under his hands a little.

“I don’t,” he says softly, not even knowing why, and Pagan shivers.

This time it doesn’t take nearly as long to get him all relaxed again, warm and pliant. He even makes a little noise, quickly stifled, a soft grunt of pleasure when he works out a particularly tight knot in his lower back. He’s starting to get into the challenge of this thing, this breaking through to…he doesn’t even know. To see how far he can take it.

As he gently but thoroughly works him over, he notes the way that his knees spread wider, how his thighs fall open even more, just from his hands on his bare back. God.

“Do you want it in you now?” He whispers the question but remembers to keep any trace of sultry out of it. After a few moments, Pagan nods, still refusing to look at him.

AJ slicks it up and gets it ready, but unlike before he keeps one hand on his lower back, stroking softly as he slides the vibrator in slow. Backs it out and then in, teasing him a little, which he’s also never really done before. Pagan arches up into it just a fraction and he grins.

“Yeah, that’s right. That feels good, doesn’t it,” he says, low and soothing this time, as he caresses the top of his ass with his other hand. That’s definitely the right technique to use with him because Pagan shudders all over and sucks in air and rocks back into what he’s doing like he can’t _help_ himself. A light sheen of sweat breaks out all over him and AJ grins.

It’s technically his lower back that he’s stroking still, but he has dimples at the top of his very shapely ass and he wanted to touch them. They’re kind of cute. He’s kind of cute all over, really. He strokes that sensitive skin and changes the angle of the dildo a little as he works it in and out of him, trying to hit the _good_ spot just right.

He takes a quick glance underneath to find him so ready he’s dripping, right onto the carpet, and something about that, something about this whole situation has him getting a little hard in his own jeans.

Oh boy. _Job. Work._ He doesn’t get turned on by this stuff. Can’t, because that’s a one-way ticket to Crazytown. And yet…of course the first of his clients to manage it is fuckin’ weirdass Pagan.

Well. Maybe it’s all right just this one time. He…after a whole year he just wants to see it _happen._

“You’re so ready, aren’t you,” and Pagan gasps; minutely, but it’s there. “Just let go. I’m making it good for you, aren’t I? Let go, just let it happen…” As he caresses his back soothingly, his voice a hypnotic murmur that he’s getting a little lost in too, kind of losing track of what he’s saying as Pagan trembles all over, trembles and pants and god, to draw those noises out of him…

“Just a little more, you’re right there, right on the fucking edge. I can feel it…I want to see you go over, I know you want to. It’s gonna feel so good after so long, isn’t it? Just let go, I’ve got you. It’s okay, I promise. Let go for me…”

At that, Pagan actually groans, his chest arching up off the glass a little, and now he can see his face. The way his eyes are squeezed tightly shut and his lips parted like he’s struggling to get enough air and that’s incredibly, supremely hot and AJ suddenly feels the deep desire to lean forward and press his lips to the sweating column of his throat…

…and something in Pagan shifts without warning, as his dark eyes fly open. As he snarls like a mad animal.

He was lost enough in watching him that it really didn’t register until Pagan twists around and bares his teeth at him, his eyes flashing with honest to god rage.

“Stop, right now,” all hoarse and strangled and just shy of _panic,_ and when he doesn’t comply quickly enough, “…I said fucking _STOP!_”

“Okay, sorry man, sorry…just calm down, okay?” As he switches it off and eases it out of him, and Pagan shoves himself off the table and just crumples there, still breathing hard.

AJ watches him warily, just a little freaked by that rage in him. Watches Pagan look down at his own erection, still on his knees. He stares at it with a little of that raw anger still, but then his face shifts, eases. His lips twist with bitter and sardonic humor, like his own hard and needy cock is some kind of a shitty joke.

“Fuck, I don’t get it,” and there he goes, blurting shit again. It’s going to get him killed one of these days, as Pagan’s eyes snap up to his, startled like he forgot he was even in the room. “I don’t get you. Like, you were _right there_…I don’t understand you at all.”

Pagan sighs like he’s exhausted as he reaches and snags the edge of his robe and pulls it over to him, wraps it more or less around his waist but doesn’t bother to get up. He digs around in the pocket of it and extracts a wad of cash and holds it out in two fingers.

“I don’t pay you for your _understanding,_” he says heavily. AJ reaches out and gingerly takes the money and Pagan lets his arm drop.

“Actually, I’m not sure why you pay me at all,” he retorts, staring down at the bulge in Pagan’s lap. “Fuck, just…_touch it,_ it has to hurt. If you don’t want me to, at least do it yourself…”

“Get out.” And when he doesn’t move fast enough for his taste, “_Out,_ right fucking now.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” as he holds his hands up and backs away from him, leaves him slumped there in the floor like he’s been utterly defeated.

“I was only trying to make you feel good,” AJ whispers, as he pulls the door shut behind him.

If Pagan hears him, he doesn’t react.

When he stops by the bank on his way home to deposit the cash, he finds that the wad of money contains three thousand, not two.

Shit. He shouldn’t feel guilty for taking this much money from weird old guys who _don’t_ want him to get them off. He _shouldn’t._ It’s a hard fucking world and he needs to take advantage of every opportunity it hands him.

But this pricks at him. Pagan or whatever his real name happens to be isn’t really old and not really that weird either, more sad than anything. After a year of this it’s becoming clear to him that there’s something going on with him, some deep-seated trauma or _something_ that’s fucking him up. Ashamed, he said so himself. Ashamed and guilty and will only let himself have a tiny taste of whatever it is he wants so badly, over and over again. God.

He can’t take three thousand dollars from a guy that he left like that, sitting in the floor like something had broken inside of him. He pulls out his phone.

_Hey u gave me way too much this time_  
_ maybe it was an accident or something_

And hits send. The message notification promptly switches to _Read._ But Pagan doesn’t respond, and he reluctantly deposits the money. He can always get that thousand out and give it back, if it was a mistake.

However, as time passes, it seems as if there might not _be_ a next time. Pagan’s usually like clockwork, and he started watching for his text a month to the day from their last session. But as the days stretch into a week of not hearing from him, he wonders if he didn’t royally fuck up his best paying gig.

As the weeks stretch into a whole month late, he starts to genuinely worry about the guy. For over a year now, he hears from him at exactly regular intervals, and now this radio silence. One night he actually ponders the merits of calling him…and that makes him realize that he really needs to quit thinking about him. Clients come and go, even the long-term regulars. It happens. It’s a business and he’s a commodity that sometimes falls out of demand. No attachments. No feelings. _No big deal._

But he can’t get the picture of that last time out of his head. Of him slumped in the floor. Of his trembling pleasure, and how it had melted into something approaching fury. The panic underneath that rage.

AJ shakes his head. It’s actually a really good thing that Pagan’s gone ghosty on him, despite the money. He’s gotten too close.

Maybe they both have.

_***_


	3. Party of Two

***

When AJ gets a text from him three days later, it seriously surprises him. So does the time, when the alert from his phone wakes him at two-thirty in the morning. Pagan’s more of an early evening kind of guy. At least, that’s been the routine. It’s starting to feel like that carefully kept routine’s getting tossed out the fucking window though.

_Come over, please._

His usual message, short and sweet. He thinks that over for several minutes. What exactly it might mean.

_Its way late but yeah, ok_

When he arrives, Pagan manages to surprise him all over again.

“AJ, dearest boy! I’m so very glad you could make it,” he says, in a rumpled dress shirt and trousers, a little _slurred,_ and tugs him inside and promptly throws his arms around him in a giant hug. Pulls him right in against his chest, into a heady cloud of fine cologne and vodka fumes. Oh Jesus.

“Yeah, okay, it’s good to see you too man,” as he squeezes back for a second and then starts trying to untangle himself. Pagan eventually lets him go, but not without beaming blearily at him.

AJ glances past his shoulder into the living room, half-expecting someone else to be here, like he might actually be having a quiet party, but no. Just a party of one. Or two now.

Pagan slaps his hand down on his chest in what is probably meant to be a friendly gesture but turns into something of a caress before the hand is withdrawn.

“My boy, I bet you’d like a drink, wouldn’t you? Of course you would…c’mon, I’ll make you a screwdriver, I bought these oranges at the market and they’re fucking _divine,_ hang on…”

As AJ follows his slightly unsteady stride to the kitchen and settles himself on one of the counter barstools, he takes in the unholy mess strewn across the place. Pieces of mangled fruit, the squashed remnants of what might be half a lime on a cutting board, god only knows what else. He watches as Pagan reaches up into the cabinet for two fresh glasses and has to catch himself against the fridge with a little snorted giggle. He bends over and roots around in the fridge itself, presumably for the oranges and nearly tips over and falls on his ass, stumbles again with another amused snort when he tries to kick the door shut.

AJ watches this spectacle with a confusing mixture of horror and amusement. Particularly when he bends over, because those trousers cling in _all_ the right places. Good god. Pagan comes back to the counter and manages to pour out two generous shots and slides one over.

“Where’s the oranges?”

“What oranges,” Pagan enquires mildly, swirling his vodka around in the glass like it’s some kind of fine wine.

“Can’t have screwdrivers without orange juice, remember?” He huffs a laugh. “Did you lose them or something?”

“Oh! Well, they _were_ in the fridge, but they seem to have gone _missing,_” he slurs gently, sadly. “It’s a shame, AJ. I really wanted to let you taste them, they were so delicious…”

He’s kind of sweet when he’s sloshed.

“Don’t worry about it, they’ll turn up. The vodka’s fine. Just the one though, I don’t drink on the job.”

“Oh AJ, you’re such a good, sweet boy, you really are. So careful, so modest,” as he throws his back.

“I don’t know about all that, but I think that should be your last one,” as he sips at his own. Good stuff. Of course it is.

“If you say so,” and winks.

Pagan watches him in silence, just staring with an unfocused, benign little smile as he finishes his drink. He does put the cap back on the bottle and push his own glass away though.

The moment he sets his own empty glass down, Pagan claps his hands together loudly, startling him.

“Well!! Shall we get started then?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” not entirely knowing what he’s talking about.

Pagan stumbles his way back over to the living room, one hand on the back of the couch for support. AJ just watches him go, waiting to see what he has in mind. As it turns out, a variant of The Usual, as he stares unsteadily down at the coffee table, and then rakes the dirty glasses and empties off of it with a booming laugh. Like it’s the funniest thing ever as they bounce onto the carpet, miraculously unbroken. He gets onto his knees right then and there, jerking his belt loose clumsily, swears at the catch in his fine trousers and gets everything shoved down as he prostrates himself over that fucking table.

“You know where the things are, my boy!”

AJ rubs at his face.

“We’re not doing this now. Not when you’re so fucking blitzed it isn’t even funny.”

“Ohhh yes we are. Now be a good lad and go get the shit, why don’t you?” Still so jovial, like AJ’s telling him a good joke.

“Jesus Pagan, you’re not even hard,” as he glances down to check. “I mean, whiskey dick I get. But you’re not even turned on, not even a little. Just…_no,_ I’m not.”

“Why? What the fuck do you care? Listen, just go get the fucking thing and shove it in me. That’s what I pay for you to do, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” Even slurring drunk, even spread out in this undignified position with his ass in the air, the command in his rough-silk voice is unmistakable. He actually twitches to obey before he catches himself.

“Why do I _care?_ Because it’ll fucking _hurt_ you, is why. And I don’t do that shit. It’s in my waiver, you know that…no pain, no bondage shit, none of that. I don’t do that stuff.”

Silence for a beat, two. Then Pagan turns his head to look at him, and AJ sucks in a breath at the expression on his face.

“But perhaps that’s what I want. Perhaps I _want_ it to hurt, did you consider that,” he whispers, all of that humor suddenly gone and his dark eyes bore into his with…something raw in the depths of them. Silently pleading. Yet another picture that he’s not going to be able to get out of his head.

And something in him snaps.

“Oh _fuck_ no. Your money is so not worth this utter bullshit. Fuckin’ drama. You don’t need this, you need a…a therapist or some shit. Been nothing but a goddamn fucking _freak_ this whole time,” as he stalks towards the door. “So yeah, don’t bother contacting me again. I’m _done_ with you.”

And of course, like an idiot, he looks back. Just in time to see Pagan fall back on his ass, clumsily tugging his pants back up as he sprawls out full-length in the floor.

AJ stares at him in disbelief as he wipes at his eyes.

“Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. It was bound to happen eventually,” Pagan mumbles. No sobbing, just tears that won’t quit as they run back into his hair. He sniffs them back and swipes at his face with his sleeve, turns his head to see him better over the back of the couch. “You’ll take good care of yourself, won’t you? Promise me that you will. That you’ll be careful and…and keep yourself safe.”

“Why the fuck do you care,” it’s his turn to whisper, his hand on the doorknob.

“I just…I do. I just do, and leave it at that. Goodnight, and…goodbye, my darling boy,” he says, with a little smile. A rueful, handsome little smile, his wet eyes crinkling at the corners.

Fuck. Fuck this, fuck _him,_ fuck…his life, his stupid, complicated life. All of it. He stares down at his own scuffed up sneakers and can’t make himself turn that knob. Can’t make his feet carry him out the door, away from this…whatever it is. He doesn’t even know what it is anymore. He realizes that he completely forgot to collect his fee.

“Pagan…” He doesn’t know what to say. But when he looks up, Pagan’s eyes are closed. And then he lets out a tiny snuffling snore. Passed out, right there in the floor. On his back.

AJ sighs.

“You goddamned bastard,” he mutters…but of course Pagan can’t hear him. He walks over and crouches down by his head. “The fuck am I gonna do with you,” and grabs him at hip and shoulder and rolls him over like you’re supposed to. His eyes open a little when he does that but there’s obviously nobody home. He looks around at a loss; there’s not even a blanket or a pillow or anything in Pagan’s sparsely modern living room. Of course there’s not.

Figuring Pagan can’t yell at him for it, he slips his shoes off and pads down that hall he’s never been down and explores a little. A door at the end leads to a small bathroom, probably for guests. The room behind the door to the left looks like a guest room, nicely furnished but sort of sterile in the way that little-used spaces feel. The door opposite opens onto the master bedroom.

He reaches in and feels around for the switch and flips it. The bed is immense, just stupidly big for one guy. Bathroom through another door. This part of the place smells like him, he realizes…and then is slightly weirded out by the fact that he knows what he smells like. His soap, his cologne, his aftershave, that combined smell a little stronger when he pokes his head into the bathroom. All done in expensive mossy green tile, big glass shower cabinet. Massive bathtub too, and he rolls his eyes. He turns down the bed and goes back to get Pagan, because his life isn’t demeaning enough. Ought to just leave him there in the floor.

But he doesn’t, and stands there for a moment trying to figure out the best way to haul him up. Pagan’s a little bigger than he is and probably weighs more, but thankfully not by much.

“Hey, wake up and help me. Time to go to bed, c’mon,” as he gets him by an arm and his undone belt and tugs at him. Pagan rouses enough so that he’s not like a limp corpse, but also doesn’t help him a whole lot as he braces his socked feet and _pulls._

Once he gets him to his feet he stands there wobbly but upright at least, and he’s able to get his arm over his shoulders and more or less steer him the way he needs him to go. Pagan mumbles something in a wash of booze fumes next to his ear that he can’t make out.

“What’s that?” Not really expecting an answer.

“You’re too good to me,” murmured against his throat, Pagan’s lips against his skin. He shivers all over. Even the thick shaggy hair on the back of his head tries to stand up, a reaction that he decides that he doesn’t care to examine too closely.

“Not like I was gonna let you lay there and choke on your own spew.”

“Said you were leaving,” as Pagan’s hand wads itself into the fabric of his t-shirt, right at the small of his back.

“Well…looks like I’m not, I guess. Afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Mmm, thass nice,” he says happily, drowsily against his neck.

It’s easy enough to get him steered past the kitchen into the bedroom, to shove his trousers down and kick them into the corner. He bats Pagan’s fumbling hands away gently and undoes his shirt buttons himself.

“You’re okay to go take a piss, right? Not gonna fall and hit your head, are you?” He chuckles a little. “It’d be hard to explain to the EMTs who I am. Well, embarrassing anyway.”

“I’ll b’fine. Won’t fall.” He smiles vaguely and pats at his head in passing, clad only in his undershorts.

He’s in there for a while, as he listens to him use the toilet and flush it, run the water for a minute. Silence. He’s about to get up and go check on him when he hears the sound of him slapping the toilet lid up and puking violently, which makes his own stomach flop over a bit.

Well, better to get it out now, as he lays back on his soft, _comfortable_ bed and almost falls asleep there as Pagan runs the water again and brushes his teeth. He lifts his arm in front of his bleary eyes and checks his watch: nearly four. God. No way he’s going all the way back home tonight, he’ll kip out on that couch out there that’s way better than his own bed and Pagan will just have to deal.

Finally, Pagan wobbles back out and AJ helps him get into bed, gets him all covered up.

“You all right? Do you need me to go find you a bucket or are you good?”

“M’good now, feel much better.”

As he’s tucking the blanket around him Pagan reaches out clumsily and cradles his face with one hand, brushes his thumb down his nose and across one cheekbone and he has this _look,_ soft and warm, this look like AJ’s the most important thing to him. He gently pulls his hand away and tucks it into the blankets.

“I’ll be out in the living room, okay?”

But Pagan’s eyes are already sliding closed, past hearing him. He has the sudden urge to kiss his forehead, which is supremely dumb. Gazing down into his sleeping face, he brushes his hair out of his eye instead.

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean it. That’s not me.”

He walks around to the other side and stuffs a couple of pillows behind him to keep him on his side just in case, steals one for himself and the throw across the foot of the bed and flips the light off, but leaves the door open to keep an ear on him.

It doesn’t take him long to round up the dirty glasses and plates and the knife and cutting board and dump everything in the sink, mostly just to keep from accidentally stepping on shit that Pagan raked into the floor. The empties he puts in the trashcan he finds under the counter, gently so they won’t clank. He thinks about loading the stuff up in the dishwasher, but when he opens it… there’s a mesh bag of fucking oranges there in the top rack. He shakes his head, laughing, as he snags them and puts them down in the crisper drawer in the fridge where they belong. Fucking crazy asshole.

The little nest he makes on that couch is so soft and warm that he falls asleep almost immediately, even in an unfamiliar place with an inebriated stranger just a few feet away. Although, is he really a stranger? Can anyone _really_ be a stranger, when you’ve seen their asshole up close and personal like twenty times now?

On that bizarre thought, he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***


	4. Brightness

***

The mid-morning Los Angeles sun blazing through those big windows is what wakes him, uncomfortably bright even through his closed eyelids. Not really ready to be awake yet, he pulls his shirt back on but doesn’t bother with his jeans as he heads to the bathroom. On his way back down the hall, he stops at the door and pokes his head into the cool dimness of Pagan’s room and listens. All he hears is the steady, gentle rhythm of his sleeping breaths. Peaceful.

Satisfied, he heads back to the couch and curls up with his face in the back of it to block the light. It should feel weird as all hell to be doing this. He’s _never_ stayed over with a client like this. Terrible fucking idea. He should be getting his clothes and shoes on and getting the hell out of here, now that he knows for certain that the guy’s fine and his cash cow isn’t going to pull a Jimi Hendrix on him or some shit.

But that’s not what it’s about. He has no real idea of what it _is_ about, besides the fact that he seems to be growing both soft-hearted and _soft-headed_ about Mr. Vaguely Cute, Vaguely Asian Guy whose name he doesn’t even know, besides the dumb made-up one that’s intended to preserve some semblance of distance in this fucked-up profession of his. He sighs, scrubs at his face with both hands. _Damn_ that asshole, with that fucking _I just do, and leave it at that._ That touch at his face, that look. Like he’s something important to him. Precious, even.

And in turn, something warm reverberates in his chest when he thinks about it, because…because he’s a lonely asshole too.

Not that any of that shit means anything. He was drunk off his gourd, probably too fucking plastered to even remember any of that when he wakes. _Put it out of your mind,_ he tells himself sternly. _It’s work. You’re still here because you haven’t gotten paid yet._

But another part of his mind that’s much deeper than where that surface thought resides cheerfully reminds him of the urge to kiss the sweating column of his throat, caught up in his desire. Lost in it with him. The urge to kiss his fucking forehead. His big, elegant hands. He hides his face in his own hands and lets himself fall back asleep, tired of his own stupid, circular argument.

The next time he wakes it’s even brighter, and as he squints he wonders if Pagan has some ideological objection to curtains. The sound of water running back there is what woke him though, and it’s only a minute or two later that Pagan shows up in the kitchen, hair rumpled and in that same bathrobe.

Something makes him tuck down further into the couch so he won’t be seen right away as he watches Pagan also squint in the harsh light. He actually hisses at the windows like an angry cat and reaches over and slaps at a panel on the wall that he hadn’t noticed, and the glass dims itself. AJ blinks gratefully at the cool gray light. Whoa. That’s neat.

Having done that, Pagan grabs a clean glass and fills it at the sink and downs half of it in approximately three gulps, breathes, slams back the rest of it, and refills. As AJ watches him hunt around in a cabinet, probably for painkillers based on his continued squinting, he seems to notice the clean state of the kitchen. The open confusion on Pagan’s face amuses him, as he stands there and obviously tries to piece things together.

AJ’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember he’s here at all. In the mood to fuck with him just a little, he grins.

“Hey there, handsome,” he says softly, and Pagan jerks like he’s been goosed. Hard. And then immediately drops into a defensive crouch as his hand moves in a blur nearly too fast for him to see, whipping a big knife out of the butcher’s block on the counter.

Fucking _hell._ AJ jumps off that couch in a hurry, hands held out to him.

“Whoa, hey…easy, easy, it’s just me, sorry for messing with you…”

“A goddamned _heart attack_…Jesus Christ, boy,” he says, voice rusty as an old hinge as he straightens and shoves the knife back in the block.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Pagan huffs a laugh, even though his eyebrows are still furrowed. “I’ll make you a deal. Find me a couple of fucking ibuprofen and we’ll call it even.”

While AJ picks up where he left off in his perusal of the cabinet, Pagan takes his water and perches himself on one of the barstools. Up on his tiptoes and trying to peer into it, he suddenly recalls that he neglected to put his pants back on. From behind him, Pagan clears his throat a little and takes another gulp. Oh well, fuck it. Let him look if he wants.

“You stayed here last night.” Not a question. More of a statement of clarification.

“Yep. You passed out in the floor, so I hauled you to bed.”

“And I didn’t do anything…untoward.”

He was worried about that? “Nope. You patted my head.”

“Hmm.” And then, much more quietly, “I remember telling you goodbye. You were angry with me.”

His questing fingers finally find the right bottle among the other bottles of spices and stuff. Why not keep it in the bathroom like a normal human? He pops the top off and shakes a couple out.

“Nah, not really.”

As he brings the pills over and dumps them into his hand, Pagan looks up at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Write down the name of your bank and the account number and I’ll drop ten thousand in there.”

Holy fuck.

It’s right on the tip of his tongue to argue with him: _It was no big deal, you don’t have to do that_…but Pagan’s face hardens, sensing it. It’s also the biggest windfall of his _life._ That money will nearly cover an entire year’s worth of school.

AJ shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like he doesn’t give a shit, like that guilt doesn’t prick at him.

“Fine, it’s your money to blow.”

While Pagan leans there with his head held carefully in one hand, AJ glances around the kitchen.

“Want some toast? I could make some, so the pills don’t eat holes in your stomach lining.” He figures ten thousand buys a guy a lot of toast. Pagan merely grunts at him, but it’s an appreciative kind of grunt. So he finds the bread and a pan and toasts it on the stove, since Pagan doesn’t seem to own a toaster.

“Oh, I found those oranges that you were talking about. They were in the fucking dishwasher,” AJ tells him, getting a couple out of the fridge to have with the toast.

Pagan looks up in confusion from where he’s buttering a slice.

“What oranges?”

After they eat Pagan wanders off and comes back with a scrap of paper and a pen that he pushes across the bar counter towards him, and he dutifully looks up his account number on his phone and writes it down for him. 

“I must admit that I also have little memory of what I might have said.” Pagan seems as if he wants to elaborate on that, or is thinking about it, but doesn’t. Just leaves that sentence hanging there, incomplete.

“I know,” as he pushes the scrap of paper back over to him. "Don't worry about it."

Once he pulls his jeans and socks and shoes on, Pagan walks him to the door like usual, which he’s always found weird because the place isn’t all that big. Does he think he’ll get lost? Maybe it’s just to lock the door behind him or something, or maybe just trying to be polite. Which is worth a laugh; good manners wasted on the rent-boy.

Usually when he leaves it’s Pagan tucking his fee into whatever pocket he can reach and propelling him out the door, but this time it’s…awkward. Pagan doesn’t open the door for him or try to shovel him out, and as he stands there with his hand on it he thinks about how different things are now, how different things would be if he’d walked out on him last night. His hand tightens on the knob.

“Listen, you…you take care of yourself, all right? No more of this shit when nobody’s around.”

Pagan waves a hand airily. “Yes, yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m serious.”

“Dear boy, I’m not entirely sure why you care one way or the other about what happens to me. Besides the obvious loss of your revenue stream, that is!” Bright and chipper and cheerful, which he’s starting to get the idea is a kind of emotional barrier.

AJ winces, because didn’t he have that exact, uncharitable thought? He lets go of the door.

“Maybe it’s like you said. Maybe I just do,” he says quietly, and before he can talk himself out of it he leans in and hugs him with one arm. Pagan stiffens in surprise, and he doesn’t linger. Pulls away and pats his shoulder. “You can, um…if you want to text me sometime, that’s cool. I mean, you do, but…you know what I mean.”

Pagan blinks at him. “You’re always finding new and delightful ways to surprise me. I think I’m following that train of thought. You mean independent of…hmm…work related things.”

“Uh…yeah, that’s what I mean. Like, keep in touch or whatever.” Jesus, he really needs to shut his mouth before he makes this even more awkward, but Pagan’s face breaks into a wide and sunny grin.

“Splendid! Awesome! I’ll do just that!”

And this time, that brightness feels much more true.

A few hours after he gets home, his phone goes off with an alert from his bank to inform him that a deposit was made to his account and he is now ten thousand dollars richer. Even though he figured he was telling the truth and was good for it, that number still makes him blink, still stabs a little.

The very next day, Pagan texts him.

Since it’s the middle of the day and he’s currently engaged with one of his other regulars he has to wait to look at it. This one’s an attractive, middle-aged attorney who also happens to be an avid gardener. She tells him at length about her award-winning camellias while he fingers her and manages to get her off just in time to wash his hands and catch the bus, go him.

As he heads home, he pulls his phone out to check.

_Saying things this way is often_  
_ easier than saying them aloud_  
_ and I realize that I forgot to tell you_  
_ thank you, for everything._

AJ laughs and shakes his head. It sounds almost like a greeting card or something. Such a fucking weirdo.

_you don’t have to_  
_ say thanks its not like your_  
_ not paying me plenty!_

_I suppose._

And that’s all Pagan says. He starts to think that maybe he said the wrong thing, but he reads it back a couple times and it seems okay. It’s not a lie and seems pretty unoffensive, so he shrugs and goes on.

It’s only another three days before Pagan messages him again.

_Come over, please._

And of course, he does.

***


	5. Just a Backrub

***

This time, Pagan greets him cheerfully enough but he’s not wearing the robe, just slacks and a nice shirt. A little eyeliner. Casual Pagan, he decides, looking him up and down.

“That was fast…didn’t expect to see you for another few weeks,” he says, in lieu of a greeting. He glances pointedly at Pagan’s crotch. “Also not in the mood for The Usual, I guess?”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

Pagan doesn’t elaborate and they stand there awkwardly looking at each other.

“You have any ideas then?”

He watches as Pagan folds his arms around himself and rubs at the bridge of his nose irritably.

“It’s bloody _stupid,_ is what it is.”

“Are you gonna tell me, or just stand there and self-deprecate?” Pagan fixes him with that steely-eyed stare through the cage of his fingers. “Okay, sorry, I’ll just…go sit on the couch while you think it over, all right?”

As he moves past him, Pagan reaches out and touches his elbow.

“Do you think you could rub my back again? I…enjoyed that.” The tone of his voice indicates anything but, as if he’s a little pissed at himself for wanting it. AJ sighs. Which was poorly timed and has Pagan furling right back up again. “Never mind boy, this was a shitty idea. I’ll compensate you for showing up, of course,” as he uses the hand still on his elbow to shovel him towards the door.

“Wait, what? No, stop…” as he plants his feet. “I sighed because…well, it doesn’t matter. Yeah, of course I’ll do it. If you want to pay a shit ton of money for somebody to just rub your back…hey, your back’s getting rubbed. No complaints here.”

This has Pagan gritting his teeth for some reason, hard muscle jumping along his jaw, but he’s pretty used to him being no-warning prickly by now. He hits sore places in him that he can’t even begin to predict. A fucking minefield. But that’s okay.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a real good one. Take a while at it, you know? Here, turn the big lights off,” as he reaches over and switches a lamp on, just one. Keeps his voice soft and soothing, not sexy. Like he’s dealing with some kind of wild animal. He carefully takes Pagan’s elbow this time and steers him towards the gloriously comfortable couch instead of that fucking table. With any luck, he’ll have him _melting_ into the thing. Pagan eyes the couch a little dubiously, but lets AJ lead him around and put him where he wants him.

“Is this okay,” AJ whispers, as he lays his hands flat on his chest. Pagan’s heart is already beating hard, hard and fast under the warm cotton. When he nods, only a little hesitantly, he moves his fingers to his shirt buttons. “Shhh, easy. Just relax and I’ll take care of everything,” as he tugs the tail of his shirt out.

“Trousers stay on,” Pagan warns, his voice a low vibration against his hands that makes him want to shiver. Although he does reach down and obligingly undo his own belt and the top button.

“Yeah, of course. Just a back rub. You’re the one calling the shots here. Go ahead and lie down,” as he slides the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms and drapes it over the back of the couch. Pagan looks even better in this low warm light, as he moves with a fluid shifting of muscle and settles himself on the cushions, his arms folded under his chin.

“Like this?”

“Uh, yeah…just like that.”

This time, as he starts with light strokes across his shoulders Pagan relaxes into it almost immediately. Already getting used to having his hands on him, associating his touch with feeling good, with pleasure, and he smiles. Putty under his fingers as he slides his knuckles down the divot of his spine, working the muscles on either side. All the way down to his lower back, which is just as tight as that first time. Pagan tenses up for just a moment as he tugs his waistband down a few inches, but then goes limp again as he kneads at those knots. He rests his knee on the cushion beside his leg so he can get both hands spanned across and put some of his weight into it. And just like before, Pagan lets out a muffled groan that he clamps down on instantly.

“No, keep doing that, I like hearing you. Lets me know I’m doing a good job.”

Pagan doesn’t say anything, but the next time he digs into a hard spot he lets himself groan again quietly. As the muscles loosen he makes this _other_ sound that shoots to unexpected places, a low, pleased rumble.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

That deep purring rumble morphs into a low chuckle, a little muffled against his arms.

“I suppose you say that to all your…_clientele,_ don’t you? Naughty boy.”

“Nah,” he says happily, “just you.” Out before he’s even thought about it.

“Oh? Perhaps I ought to feel honored.”

“Maybe you should. You’re the only one I do this for.”

Pagan’s quiet for a while after that as he continues to work, like he’s thinking that over, his breathing deep and slow and even under his palms. But when he slides his fingers gently up along his ribs he actually _moans_ a little, like it was startled out of him. Moans and then makes that appreciative rumbling sound, both of which are unfortunately going right to his fucking crotch. Although it’s not like he can see him at half-mast in his jeans back here. Maybe it’ll go down.

Probably wishful thinking, as Pagan shifts and ripples under his hands like a big cat, tightening up with a good, hard stretch…and then subsides with a gusted, happy sigh, all soft under him again. Now that he’s nice and loose he can really work on him without hurting him, sliding his palms against the downy skin of his lower back and digging in with the heels of his hands. He works his way back up to the middle as Pagan shifts around and settles again, savoring the slow rise and fall of his peaceful breathing.

Except…it’s picking up under his hands, still deep but faster, as Pagan moves under his hands with that rumble of pleasure, as that familiar flush runs up under his fingers.

As he slides up to work at the back of his neck, he leans forward to see his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted as he _squirms_ a little, his skin heating with a rush of blood. All just from him _rubbing his back. _God_._

“Pagan,” he murmurs in his ear, and he’s close enough to hear him swallow.

“Mmm?” Slowly, dreamily.

“Roll over.” And Pagan’s eyes snap open at that, a little of that hard gleam making its way through the haze of arousal in his eyes. “Please, just…let me take care of you. Please.”

Despite that heat in his eyes, the smile that tugs at his lips is sharp and hard and sardonic, more sneer than anything.

“Tell me boy, why do you want to _so_ very badly when you told me yourself that you don’t give a shit either way? As well you _shouldn’t._”

“I…” And it was his turn to swallow. “I don’t fucking know why, okay? I just…I just do.”

Pagan’s face softens, becomes nearly gentle.

“All right, then tell me this. Are you on the clock?”

“Well yeah, of course. For however long you want.” _And I’m down for just about anything you want,_ but of course he doesn’t reveal that bit of flagrant stupidity. But it’s true. It’s so true, as he can’t stop looking at Pagan’s flushed lips. Maybe, _maybe_ they’re finally getting somewhere.

“Then no. You can stop now or keep going as you please, as it’s fairly clear that I’m…_enjoying_ myself, but no below the waist.”

He can’t quite suppress the frustrated sound that rises in the back of his throat.

“You can’t lie there and tell me that you need to pay somebody to get them to come in here and do…whatever. Rub your back. Fuck you. Let you fuck them. Make you goddamn toast, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mmm, you’re probably right,” he concedes with a little shrug, “though I can’t really say I’ve tried.”

“Then why won’t you just…fuck, just let me _do_ what you’re paying for? What guys like you pay guys like me to do?”

_That_ gets a reaction, more like fire in his hard gaze, rather than steel. A downturn of his expressive mouth, his jaw knotting up and his back going all tense again. All his work undone. He sighs.

“I’ll ask it again,” Pagan says through gritted teeth. “_Are_ you on the clock, AJ?”

“Yes! Isn’t that the fucking _point?!_”

But Pagan says nothing to that, just watches him with a kind of wary disappointment. It’s not the right answer. He has no idea what the right answer is.

“Pagan, do you want me to leave?”

“Not particularly, not unless you want to.”

He thinks that over, trying to puzzle it out, although he was already pretty sure of the answer. That he didn’t really want him to go.

“Will you do it?”

“Do what, my boy?” Pagan untucks one arm and pushes himself over enough to reach up and squeeze his shoulder. _It’s all right,_ that touch seems to say. _A little slow on the uptake, but perhaps you’ll understand me one of these days._

AJ looks right into his eyes, pupils still blown wide with the low light, with desire.

“Jack off and let me watch,” and as Pagan sucks in a hissing breath, “Please. You realize it’s been over a year that we’ve been doing this? And you haven’t gotten off a single time. Not _once._ I just…want to see you.”

Pagan stares right back into his eyes, like he’s searching for something, his warm hand still squeezing his shoulder a little, his own still on Pagan’s side. He suddenly realizes with a sharp hot spike in his middle that he’s not above _begging,_ caught up in something he doesn’t understand.

“_Please._”

“If…” Pagan has to stop and swallow like his mouth’s gone too dry. “If that’s what will make you happy. If that will…satisfy you, for whatever reason.” He moves his hand from AJ's shoulder to rub at his own face and huffs unamused laughter. “Jesus Christ, I can’t _believe_ I’m…fuck. All right, all right…”

With that, Pagan jams his other elbow into the cushion and rolls over, bracing his bare feet so he can prop his head and shoulders up on the pillowed arm of the couch. AJ’s seen every inch of him every time they’ve met, every freckle, every one of his myriad scars, has seen him bent over and sweating and so hard that it made his own dick twitch a little in sympathy. But this makes his own mouth dry, makes his own dick do way more than twitch as he watches Pagan put a hand on the bulge in his trousers and grasp the zipper, despite the fact that he’s not being one bit seductive about it. That word _clinical_ comes to mind again, as he pulls the zip and shoves everything just enough out of the way with the air of a man about to undergo an examination.

AJ still sucks in air as his cock springs free, even so. Even so.

Under his avid gaze, Pagan curls that big hand around himself…and without warning proceeds to jerk it hard and fast and _dry_ with no warmup at all, the kind of masturbatory session where you want to get it over with as quickly as possible and don’t really mind if it hurts a little. He winces.

“…god, not like that,” and reaches out to lay just his fingertips on the back of his hand. “Man, that hurts me just to watch.” When Pagan looks at him in some confusion, “Did you forget _how to_ or some shit? Christ, hang on…”

That makes Pagan laugh for some reason as he gets up to go get that fancy lube that he keeps in that drawer out here. Laughs with more humor than he’s shown so far this evening, maybe relaxing just a little bit, miracle of miracles.

“That very well could be, darling boy! Oh, it’s been a long time, a very long time indeed since I’ve bothered with this at all. But I suppose you’ll talk me through it, won’t you? Since you _insist._”

He nearly drops the bottle in his hand. Fucking whiplash, _Jesus._ Pagan’s eyes on him are warm and maybe a little amused, his mouth curling just a little. Making it all about AJ seems to make him happier about the whole thing, as he lies there comfortably with one hand behind his head, the other still resting on himself. Waiting for him to tell him what to do.

Feeling a little dazed, he kneels there on the carpet beside the couch and pours out a little of that fancy lube into his own hand to warm it, not trusting Pagan to not just slather it on _cold_. So far, he’s managed to exhibit all the sensuality of a concrete block.

“Here, hold out your hand,” he murmurs, and takes Pagan’s hand in his and swipes the now-warm slick across his palm. “Now, go _slow._ Be patient…shut your eyes, that’ll make it better.”

The change is almost instantaneous, as Pagan obligingly closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his cock again. This time, he nearly hisses at the sensation of that first warm, slippery stroke.

“Doesn’t that feel good? Isn’t that way better?” He knee-walks around to the end of the couch so that his head is beside his, so that he can look down along his torso and see everything. “Keep your eyes closed for me.”

“That’s good,” Pagan mumbles, setting off sparks in his own belly. Without really thinking about it, he pops the button on his jeans and unzips them with his clean hand.

“Even slower than that…there you go. Relax, there’s no rush,” he whispers right into his ear, the one with the glittery gold stud in it, and Pagan shivers. He jerks a little when he lays his hand on his bare shoulder, but that’s probably just because he couldn’t see it coming, as he relaxes again right away.

“Yeah, that’s good, just like that. Now, hold your fist still and thrust up into it…” And Pagan obliges him with a gasp, his hips snapping up off the cushions, already starting to break out in sweat under his hand and he wants to just let him go for it since he’s…god, he can’t even imagine how fucking good that must feel for him, after so long. But another part of him wants to stretch it out until he can’t take it anymore, until he _breaks_ under the tension and that thought has him shoving his own still-slick hand down his pants with a little moan that he stifles against Pagan’s throat.

“AJ, are you…oh, oh fuck, you _are,_ aren’t you,” and he reaches behind him with his free hand to cradle the back of AJ’s head, working his long fingers into his hair and grasping blindly.

“Yeah I am, slow down a little more. Let me…let me catch up,” he manages to choke out.

The shake in his voice is a little embarrassing, but Pagan groans when he hears it, as he rocks slowly but steadily into his slick fist and the noises it makes, the noises his own hand is making are driving him crazy. Neither of them are going to last long at this rate. Pagan’s panting breaths brush against the side of his face, hot against his ear and watching him push up into his own tight fist makes it almost feel like it’s his hand on him, instead of his own…

AJ loops his arm around his chest and neck and hangs onto him with their faces pressed together, and Pagan makes that pleased rumble again, vibrating under his arm. His whole body is vibrating, he notes, while his own pleasure curls deliciously hot through his groin, the base of his spine.

“AJ, I’m close…quite close,” he groans out, and that look of near ecstasy, dazed and pleasure drunk, lips flushed and parted and breathing hard and so fucking blissed out it makes him want to turn his head…and kiss him.

Instead of indulging in that stupidity that is pretty much guaranteed to freak both of them out, he whispers hotly in his ear instead.

“I know, I am too. Real close…” And he is, he realizes, especially when he takes in Pagan’s thrumming tension, belly heaving for air and his hand moving faster and faster despite his admonition to go slow but to try to hold it off anymore might be torture. He squeezes him tightly with the one arm as Pagan digs his fingers deeper into his hair, straining for that peak, both of them panting.

AJ watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Pagan’s feet curl and he arches in a long fluid wave and comes _hard_ with a grunting moan that sounds ripped out of him, comes so hard that the first pulse of it nearly hits him in the face, the rest of it striping his chest and belly.

And in that moment, he has this fantasy, the mental picture bright and clear of climbing on top of him and pinning his hips down and sinking onto his already slick cock. Of taking all of him in one hot push right as he comes inside him. And _that_ has him biting down on his own hand where it’s still slung around Pagan’s neck, blindsided as his own orgasm rushes over him warm and vibrating as his muscles lock up with a full-body shudder. As he follows Pagan over that edge into at least thirty seconds of that glowing, trembling pleasure with his heart hammering in his ears. Gently stroking himself through the shivery aftershocks as Pagan does the same, his eyes still closed.

He unwraps his arm with a little pat at Pagan’s shoulder, as Pagan lets go of his head with the same kind of small caress and it’s his turn to fall back on his ass and sprawl out on the carpet bonelessly.

As reality reasserts itself now that the _urgency_ of his arousal dissipates, he has the chance to reflect on how mind-blowingly stupid this was. The job is all about getting them off, never himself. Hell, he _never_ gets turned on by what he does with clients, hasn’t ever.

Except for him. Weird asshole Pagan. No accounting for tastes, apparently.

Nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing as they lie there and come down from it, and AJ already wants to look at him again, see if he’s freaking out. Or if maybe there’s a softness to his hard, lean face now, sleepy and finally sated. He rubs his own in aggravation and raises his head.

What he sees has him sitting up in a hurry. Stupid, fucking _stupid._

“Uh, Pagan? I’m…I’m really sorry, shit.”

“Mmm? What’s wrong,” Pagan says, a little dreamily. Also kind of hoarse, but warmly contented and he’d smile if he weren’t so pissed at himself.

“I…uh, I kinda jizzed on the side of your nice couch.”

Silence.

And then Pagan erupts into laughter that sounds like it was surprised out of him, and he doesn’t know if he should be pissed that he’s laughing at him or even more pissed at himself because he loves it, absolutely loves that sound.

Shoving that away, he gets slowly to his feet, still wobbly and walks into the kitchen to get some paper towels and wet them. Inspecting his t-shirt for damage, he gets himself cleaned up and comes back and hands one to Pagan without looking at him, then gets down and gets to scrubbing.

“It’s fine, dear boy, don’t worry yourself about it! You needn’t do that. I have a maid, you know.” Completely unconcerned and ignorant of the fact that he’s broken so many of his own rules, the self-imposed laws that keep him safe and _sane_ while he does this. AJ grits his teeth and scrubs harder.

“Not gonna make your fucking _maid_ clean up my spunk,” he whispers harshly, and Pagan doesn’t say anything.

When he gets the leather as clean as he can he gets up and takes the dirty towel from Pagan’s hand, still not looking at him.

“AJ,” he says gently, “come and lie down with me for a little while.” Arms held open for him. If he turns on his side, there’ll be just enough room for the two of them. If they cuddle up close. He looks down at him, but whatever Pagan sees in his face has his own hardening, his arms withdrawing to wrap around himself instead, as if he’s cold. “No, you’re right. Perhaps that was a bad idea and…”

“I didn’t say no,” he interrupts, because of course he wants it, even if it makes him a moron to even consider it. He can’t remember the last time anybody just…put their arms around him besides Pagan, when he was so drunk that he probably doesn’t even remember it.

Maybe it was Mom.

Now here he is, sabotaging his own self-interest, pulling down his every carefully crafted wall. The only one who ever has his best interests at heart is himself. And yet he’s going to go and be an idiot anyway, as Pagan watches him with a studiously bland expression.

“I didn’t say no,” he finds himself saying. “I want to, just…let me go throw these away first.”

In a daze, he does that and then walks into Pagan’s bedroom and snags that throw off the foot of the bed. When he comes back, he spreads the blanket out over Pagan and pulls his jeans off and eases himself down next to him, as Pagan scoots back further into the back of the couch to make more room. His hands on him are warm even through his t-shirt as Pagan draws him in, tucking an arm under his head and offering his shoulder as a pillow. It takes a few seconds to get situated, but once they’ve shifted together comfortably Pagan lets out a long sigh as he tucks his own arm around his side.

Savoring the warmth of his bare skin, he finds himself suddenly exhausted as Pagan spreads the other half of the blanket over him, and as he nestles there against him he’s asleep and dreaming almost as soon as he closes his eyes, too tired to even remember to say thank you.

Hours later AJ wakes utterly disoriented, not knowing up from down or where he is or _who_ is pressed so warmly against him. A little frisson of fear while he lays there stiff and still during the few whole seconds it takes him to remember.

Pagan.

That fear turns to relief, to a blooming warmth in his chest as he relaxes against Pagan’s solid form. Good to be so warm, both inside and out, so good that it’s hard to muster up that concern at how stupid this is. He doesn’t mean anything to Pagan. Pagan doesn’t mean anything to him. And yet Pagan’s arm is still curled around him, his nose buried in his hair as he rests his own hand on the velvety skin of his side and breathes him in, not a bit weirded out, not anymore. Wanting to catalogue that uniquely Pagan smell of warm skin and his soap and a hint of sweat as Pagan stretches against him and settles again with a softness in his lean face. A peacefulness. He has a tiny scar on his chin.

The contrasting chill of the air-conditioned room has him burrowing in closely again, relishing his heat and just like that he’s dozing off, his thoughts slowly and warmly scattering as he sinks.

Later, a hand brushes through his hair and then down his cheek, rousing him a little.

“Lovely boy,” Pagan mumbles, and AJ tucks his arm back around him and pushes his head against his chest and the slow, steady thudding under his cheek sends him under again, warm and good.

The next time he opens his eyes, still nestled against Pagan’s chest, he remembers to check the time as he twists his arm enough to see his watch. 3:46. Shit. He tries to slide out from under Pagan’s arm without waking him, but Pagan reflexively curls around him, hanging on until enough awareness returns for him to realize what he’s doing. He lets him go with a little pat and rubs at his eyes.

“I gotta go, it’s nearly four. Sorry, was trying to not wake you.”

“Quite all right,” as he stretches and yawns and sits up. “Do you need me to drive you home? I don’t mind to.”

“Nah, go on and go to bed, I’m good. Late bus’ll be down this block in ten,” as he slides his jeans back on.

They look at each other in the low lamplight.

AJ gazes down at him, moves close and reaches out. He takes his face gently in his hands, a little dark stubble rasping against his fingers as he leans in to kiss his forehead, just as he wanted to last time. Studiously not thinking of the _why,_ just of the desire to say goodbye like this. Pagan’s eyes close, a little furrow between them…and suddenly pulls out of his hands before he can do it.

Too much, pushed him too hard, fuck. As his ears burn.

Slowly and mechanically, Pagan reaches into his back pocket and extracts a wad of cash, not really looking at him.

“My apologies, I nearly forgot,” he says, holding it out and his sleep-roughened voice is edged with something dark and heavy. He takes it, just as slowly. Whatever drowsily warm and sated thing that was between them just a couple of minutes ago now obviously broken as reality reasserts itself.

What was two pathetically lonely people clutching at each other, as Pagan shrugs into his shirt and he pulls his own shoes on.

He doesn’t walk him to the door this time.

“You’ll keep in touch, right,” he says quietly, to the back of Pagan’s bowed head where he’s still sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees.

Pagan is silent for so long that he thinks he’s not going to get an answer…or maybe the answer is that he’s _not,_ as his chest twinges uncomfortably.

“Yes, I suppose that I will,” he says, soft and cold and bitter, directed at AJ, at himself, he doesn’t know.

That slight twinge in his chest jumps to full-blown pain. He leans down and rests his chin on the back of the couch, grateful for the barrier between them, because otherwise he might do something truly moronic. Like walk around the corner of it and throw himself down between Pagan’s knees and try to take him into his arms, press his mouth to his, and Pagan would fight it, would absolutely shove him away because that’s not what they are. What they are is a whore and his john, and that’s all they’ll ever be, all they _should_ be…

“Pagan…” and he can hear the strain in his own voice, the fucking…_fear_ in it, or whatever it is.

Unexpectedly Pagan sighs, like maybe it hurts him too. He leans back against the couch so their heads are together again, nestles close and slides his arm behind him so that he can tangle his fingers in the back of AJ’s hair, just like before.

“Shhh, it’s all right, AJ, you didn’t do anything wrong. Everything’s all right, I promise. I’m…sorry about that, of course I’ll be in touch,” gentle now, his hand working through his perennially messy hair. Pagan lets him gingerly slide his arm around his neck and shoulders, also like before, lets him stay there for a comforting interlude before he moves his hand to squeeze his arm.

“Go on and go catch your bus now, there’s a good lad,” breath warm against the side of his face.

Things feel a little easier between them after that, but he still hates to leave him there, staring out the windows at the city lights and not really seeing them. AJ’s eyes meet his in the reflection off the glass and Pagan’s face softens, struggles into an almost smile for him. He backs out, holding his eyes for as long as he can as he pulls the door shut gently behind him.

It's bittersweet and not how he wanted the night to end. But it will have to be enough, since he manages to get down to the lobby and out the big glass front doors and flag down the bus with about thirty seconds to spare.

***


	6. Cheeseburgers and Reassurances

***

The days pass for him in a blur of meeting with his other clients, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep up the façade. Harder to keep up with the acting part of the job, probably the most essential part of it. One of his regulars drops him and calls his agency complaining of a ‘lack of enthusiasm’ on his part.

It’s difficult to care, not when he’s sleeping so poorly, not when he can’t get that fucking asshole out of his head. He tosses and turns and has no idea why. Sometimes he dreams about him, a hand worked into his hair and little pants of warm breath against his ear.

‘Look at me,’ Pagan murmurs to him in that rough-silk voice, as if he could do anything else. But in those dreams he can’t see his face at all, try as he might and as much as Pagan seems to want him to. His touch is so vivid he wakes up still feeling his fingers in his hair.

No, it’s when he’s awake that he sees his face, conjured from his memory. That blissful, lost in pleasure look. Imagines kissing his flushed lips when he’s in the shower, Pagan shoving him up against the tiled wall. Of pinning Pagan to the mattress when he’s trying to sleep, the sensation of the sheets sliding across his bare skin enough to set him off.

Like an idiot he keeps picking up his phone to text him, but he has no idea of what to say that doesn’t sound so trite and stupid. _How are you? Not drinking yourself into oblivion, I hope. I miss you and I can’t stop thinking about you and you’re just a real prickly bastard, you know that? I don’t know why, but you sure as shit are. And somehow, for some reason, I like you anyway._ He lays his phone down with a sigh.

All of that makes it hard to pay attention when the nice ladies that pay his bills want to bitch about their boring husbands or talk about camellias and the tv shows they’re currently watching or whatever.

Nearly two weeks pass before Pagan texts him again.

_I know it’s late,_  
_ but might you be hungry?_  
_ I myself am fucking starving_  
_ I thought we could go get some burgers_  
_ how does that sound?_

Burgers. He consults his watch. Nearly eleven, the crazy prick, and Pagan emphatically _does not seem_ to be the type of guy to eat burgers. _Go get them_ implies going out in public with him. Unless it’s a euphemism for something?

Equal parts confused and intrigued. He knows better though. He fucking _knows_ better than this, than to let Pagan keep changing the rules on him. Where they go, what they do. _Dangerous._ When he meets with a new client, he does nothing the first session but talk about rates, expectations, and cases the joint for exits. Just in case it all goes to shit. People get violent sometimes, think they can just take what they want. It’s happened to him before. He always maps his escape routes, which don’t exist when you stupidly get in a john’s car and let him take you places of his choosing.

AJ rubs his face and swears under his breath and picks up the phone again.

_Sure, burgers sound good_

_Awesome!_  
_ Tell me where to pick you up_

There’s a place a few blocks away. Absolutely no reason for Pagan to know which rundown apartment building is his.

_Southridge Park, should_  
_ pop up in your GPS okay_

_I’ll be there in an hour_

Fifty-five minutes later and he’s sitting on a swing in the hot dark near the parking lot, keeping one eye out for junkies that might be in the mood to hassle him and the other out for whatever it is that Pagan’s driving. He forgot to ask. Probably something way pretentious that’s going to stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood…maybe he should’ve thought this out a little better. LA’s never been safer, but you can still get carjacked in the wrong places, get mugged, as headlights rake over him and make him squint.

Might be him…but no, it’s an SUV packed with teenagers who tumble out laughing and clutching their bottles in paper bags. He gives them the stinkeye and they wisely head off to another, unoccupied locale.

The next car along also swings its lights across him, and as it pulls up next to the SUV he can already tell it’s him. He can see his shock of blond hair from here, because of course he’s driving a convertible. A fucking _Mercedes-Benz_ convertible. Instead of immediately going over to him he decides to stay right where he is and let the poncy fuck come to him.

Oh, and he looks _good,_ as he shuts off the car and gets out, all pale linen and dark silk shirt unbuttoned low in the heat, the heels of his glossy shoes clicking on the cracked tarmac. He doesn’t swagger, exactly, but that stride is awfully self-assured all the same. That also rankles him tonight, for reasons unknown.

“Watch where you step,” he calls out, instead of saying hello. “There’s needles and shit.”

If this concerns Pagan in the slightest he doesn’t show it one bit, as he saunters over with his hands in his pockets. Surprisingly, he brushes the dirt off the swing next to him with his hand and sits down primly. He can smell his fine cologne from here, warm and spicy like some kind of incense.

“Probably not what you were expecting, huh,” he says, before Pagan can get anything out. A little mocking edge to it, low and mean. He doubts a fucking rich bitch like Pagan has ever even seen this part of town.

“Hmm? And hello by the way, how are you, I hope you’re having a lovely evening. Not sure what you mean about expectations though, darling,” he says, tipping his head back to look up at the streetlights. About a third of them have been busted out, leaving pools of velvety shadow here and there. His voice is placid, almost content, not a care in the world. The endearment makes his ears burn.

“This kind of shithole must be a new and novel experience for somebody like you.”

And Pagan looks over at him and _laughs,_ rich and rolling and warm, and once again he’s torn between hot anger that it’s at his expense and the way his laugh fills his belly with something that feels a little like sunshine.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“Why, you are, my sweet, naïve boy! Although granted, we don’t know each other all that well…you see, I grew up in a rather rough neighborhood in Kowloon. Not the Walled _City,_ mind you, but right beside it. In the eighties. And in comparison to that…well, Los Angeles is really rather _tame,_ all told. I was raised in a Triad family…do you know what that means, to be Triad?”

AJ swallows. “Yeah, like gang stuff.” He knows about that kind of stuff himself, having done truly stupid shit before his mom got sick.

“Yes, ‘gang stuff’ is a good way to put it. I was educated in England, but during the summers I would fly back home and go to work for my father muling drugs and extorting money and whatever sordid shit he asked of me. So yes, I’ve certainly experienced my share of crime and poverty and _shame_ in my life. I think that this is a nice little park, needles and broken glass and all. With some care taken, it would be rather beautiful. And you probably keep an apartment somewhere near here, small and maybe a bit shabby but clean, am I wrong? The sort of place that would cost fifty, perhaps seventy-five times what you pay now, were it in Hong Kong. So! If you’re done feeling passive-aggressive about your circumstances, may we please go get some food? I wasn’t kidding, I’m fucking _starving_ and a giant, greasy food-truck burger sounds like just the thing.”

AJ blinks. “You’re a real prick sometimes,” he blurts, and _shit,_ he really needs to stop doing that.

“So I’ve been told,” he says mildly, standing up and dusting off his hands. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah…but still, aren’t you afraid of getting held up or something, with that fancy fucking car of yours?”

In response, Pagan holds out a hand to him, and when he takes it, gently pulls him to his feet by it. And keeps pulling, as he unbuttons his jacket with his other hand. Pulls him in good and close, and for one stomach-flipping moment he’s sure that he’s going to lean in and kiss him. But what he does is run AJ’s hand up his side, along the warm silk of his shirt…until his fingers brush the cooler metal of the large handgun situated in his armpit. He jerks away as if it were red-hot instead.

Pagan lets go of the grip on his hand, lets him put a few steps between them.

“So there you have it. The answer is no, I’m not.”

“Jesus _Christ!_ Do you have a fucking permit for that thing?”

Pagan rolls his eyes even as he huffs a laugh.

“Such a good, sweet boy you are. So very _law-abiding._ Put such things out of your mind, and know only that you are very, very safe with me.”

Maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe it’s the other way, that the thugs and carjackers are the ones in danger from _him._

Pompous prick though he may be, batshit crazy and illegally armed to boot, and he _still_ finds himself wanting to reach over between their seats and hold his big, freckled hand. It’s right there. He only steers the car with one, the other carelessly sprawled on his thigh as they drive down nearly deserted streets. He wads his own in the hem of his faded t-shirt to keep from doing it. He didn’t think to put on nicer clothes, not for a midnight food run. Overall pretty ratty and threadbare in comparison.

He should’ve known better. He _does_ know better, about a whole lot of fucking things.

Like the fact that despite a year’s worth of doing…whatever it is they’ve been doing, he doesn’t know this guy at all. Thinking of that gun, a former gangbanger turned whatever he is now. He really has no idea, as he twists his hands together, not really listening as Pagan yammers on about something, some song on the radio.

The worst fucking part of it is that even now he’d take his hand if it were offered, kiss him back if he moved in for it, let him fuck him in the backseat of this ridiculous car if he ever gave him the slightest inclination that’s what he wanted. He absolutely would, and then loathes himself for the realization as he carefully looks the other way, watching the brightly-lit crosswalks and traffic lights blur by in a rush of hot wind.

All these things he promised himself he’d never do. Compromised, his careful control over this job, his _life,_ crumbling in the face of fuckin’ weirdass freaky Pagan. Everything slipping between his fingers, as he clenches his hands and grits his teeth while Pagan cheerfully beats a rhythm onto the steering wheel with his own fingers.

The place that Pagan takes them to isn’t far, the parking lot of a rundown industrial complex. But at least there are people around, he notes, and there are indeed food trucks. Four of them pulled into a big rough circle like the wagons in a cowboy movie, with a few picnic tables in the middle. As Pagan parks the car and they get out, he realizes that one of the old warehouses has been converted into a bar or a dance club or something, judging from the lights and the booming bass coming from that direction.

AJ takes in the food wrappers skittering by in the warm breeze, the broken glass from busted out car windows glowing like aqua gems under the streetlights. He looks back at Pagan.

“You uh, come here often?” Despite his persistent anxiety, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he glances over in the direction of the club. “Get a little dancing in from time to time?”

“Oh, hardly. No, I come here for one thing and one thing only, my boy. Sometimes you cannot lead, only follow the best itinerant burger sellers around town. This place happens to be on Son of a Bun’s weekly route.”

Son of a Bun. He can see it now, one of the trucks has it written large in a vaguely Western font across the front, along with a butcher’s diagram of a cow. He shakes his head in bemusement, relaxing a little despite himself. Pagan leads the way through little knots of bargoers standing around chatting and smoking and finishing their sodas.

As they stand in line with the other night denizens, he wonders what they look like together. What people think when they see the two of them together, flashy older guy with a younger, rough-looking guy like him. If they look and can see it on him, a whore out with his trick. Especially as Pagan reaches for him and rests his hand at the small of his back. But it’s not a possessive kind of touch, just the merest brush of his fingers, really. A little caress.

When he looks over at him, Pagan gives him a little smile. Sweet and warm, all the way to his eyes as they crinkle at the edges. Like in this moment, Pagan’s just happy to be here with him, that look like he’s the most important thing. Not just a drunken aberration after all. It’s so open and honest that AJ finds himself smiling back despite himself, finds it erasing some of that fear and doubt as he leans into him a little.

Doesn’t matter what other people think.

Maybe they look like something else, as Pagan’s hand runs gently up his back, as he loops his own arm around his waist. In that moment, maybe they _are_ something else as they stand there nestled close under the streetlights, with the tinny sound of a radio tuned to a mariachi station warring with the percussive thumping of the nearby bar, surrounded by the good greasy food smells that also war with Pagan’s cologne.

Then the woman ahead of them receives her food and shuffles away, and the little spell is broken.

The guy working the window grins to see Pagan, so he’s not lying about being a regular.

“You want your usual?” AJ tries not to snicker at that. Pagan shoots him a look.

“Yes, two, if you please. And a plate of fries. And two Cokes.”

Arms laden, he helps him carry their haul to a spot at one of the picnic tables. Pagan swipes at the wooden bench with a napkin and sighs for his linen trousers. The burgers themselves are enormous, giant cheeseburgers with the works. It’ll be a miracle if Pagan can keep that shit off of him, but he manages to make eating it look elegant, even as it quickly disappears.

It’s really good, he’ll give him that…not sure if it’s chasing a food truck around town good, but pretty damn good. He sips at his bucket of Coke as Pagan leans back with a satisfied sigh, a discretely muffled burp and a rub at his stomach. His eyes follow his hand, he can’t help it, as it slides up his chest absently. Notes that the movement puts his fingers within inches of that gun.

Something in his face stills Pagan’s hand.

“I’ve frightened you, haven’t I,” he says quietly, just over the music. “I only meant to reassure you…”

“Whatever man, it’s fine,” as he shrugs and looks away.

Pagan doesn’t say anything for a while, an awkward silence between them.

“Well,” he finally says, bright and chipper. “There was a matter I wanted to discuss with you, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to go on a little drive as well! Do a little starwatching!” Pagan flashes him an expectant smile, and just like that, the anxiety is back in the pit of his stomach, sharp and sickening. Stupid, _stupid._ Like he has a choice about it. Pagan either doesn’t realize, or just plain doesn’t give a shit. Or maybe that was the point of showing him that fucking gun. Why even bother to ask his input?

This has to be the most idiotic thing he’s ever done, and tomorrow someone’s going to find him dumped out in the desert somewhere with a bullet in his head and nobody’s going to _care,_ there’s no one to even care about another dead brown guy. Just another dead hooker. The only one who would have given a shit was Mom, and she's dead and gone too, leaving an Ishwari-shaped hole in his world.

AJ forces himself to relax, makes himself smile back easy and unconcerned as can be as he slurps the last of his Coke.

“Sure Pagan. It’s your dime, after all.”

***


	7. Stars

***

The proposed drive turns out to be a long one, all the way out to the edge of town and then up into the mountains, up and _up,_ Pagan’s nice car hugging the turns easily. The air grows cooler and fresher as it ruffles his hair. Pagan has both hands on the wheel now, more careful on this dark, windy road, and he’s glad the temptation to reach out and tangle their fingers together has been removed. He wishes bitterly that Pagan had never shown him that fucking gun, although that’s stupid too…it would have been there whether he knew or not.

But for that one moment, as Pagan pulled him close and ran his hand up under his jacket, his silk shirt all warm from his body, for one giddy, stomach-flipping moment he really did think he was going to kiss him. _Safe with me,_ he said afterwards. If only he could believe that. Wishes he could.

Well, wish in one hand and shit in the other, as the saying goes.

It wasn’t bad when there were people around. He could forget it for a while, especially when Pagan looks at him, touches him like that. Like they’re the only two people in the whole world.

Pagan reaches out, startling him out of his thoughts, but it’s only to flip the radio back on. His finger hovers over the preset buttons and then punches one, and the sounds of an old Bollywood classic fills the car, startling him all over again. Desi 980, the scrolling marquis on the screen says.

“My mom used to listen to this station,” he says. “It was her favorite. Said it reminded her of home.” She had had a little battered radio in the kitchen. Even now, the music brings back the smell of _masala_ and _roti_ toasting on the stove, her sweet voice asking him how school had gone. He hasn’t listened to it since she died. He clenches his jaw.

“Oh? And where would that be?” In the dark, AJ doesn’t notice how his hands are clenched on the wheel, a white-knuckled grip. His voice is warm, charming. Only his hands betray the strain.

“Kyrat. She was from Kyrat. I was born there…do you know where that is? Most people have no clue. Not that I really know anything about it either, I gotta admit.”

“Vaguely. Little place up somewhere in the Himalayas, I think. I might be able to find it on a map on a good day.” Pagan is quiet for a moment. “You speak about her in the past tense.”

“Yeah, I lost her last year. Cancer.” He stares down at his hands and wonders why Pagan cares enough to ask. Maybe just bored.

“And your father?”

“Dead, back in Kyrat. That’s all I know, that he died a long time ago. I don’t remember him or anything.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any siblings?” And here the slightest hoarse edge catches AJ’s attention. He looks over but Pagan’s face is inscrutable in the dark.

“Nah, it’s just me.” He barks a laugh. “Don’t sit there and try to tell me that you give a shit.”

Pagan shrugs, a hitch of his shoulders.

“Call it curiosity then. Perhaps I merely wanted to know more about you…we’ve known each other for more than a year now.”

“I guess.”

“Is there anything that you’d ask of me? I’ll answer,” Pagan says gently. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you.”

AJ thinks again of that fucking gun, of what he said earlier about him having been some kind of Hong Kong gangster. Money and drugs, while ‘Solla Solla Enna Perumai’ plays in the background, at cheerful odds with this conversation. He already knows pretty much all he needs to.

“No, not really.”

Pagan doesn’t say anything else.

At the very top of the dark mountain there’s a small, empty parking lot that Pagan pulls into, a long wooden rail made out of logs, some big rocks, and that’s about it. An overlook, a place to take in the view. Behind them the LA skyline glows faintly, but ahead of them stretches the endless, unbroken desert and a velvety black sky positively cloudy with stars.

Despite everything he finds himself staring in awe.

“Whoa,” he whispers, as Pagan shuts of the engine, leaving no sound but the sighing of the cool wind. Almost _too_ cool, after the oppressive heat of the valley. Down there, the night sky tends to be a flat, grayish brown, all but the moon and a few of the brightest stars obscured by haze and pollution and all those lights. He’s never seen the sky look like this before, as he cranes his head back. He knows some of the big constellations, from books, and it amazes him to get to see them for himself as he traces the lines of the Big Dipper with his eyes.

Lost in looking, he startles and jerks away from the hand laid on his shoulder.

Pagan curses under his breath and shoves his door open roughly and gets out as he shrinks down in his seat and then _hates_ himself for it. For cowering in fear like something whipped. He has half a mind to take off, but go where? He went and insured that Pagan could do anything he wants, let him bring him all the way out here with nobody else around, no way to escape.

It feels like they’re the only two people in the entire world.

Pagan jerks his jacket off and flings it in the front seat as AJ watches him with wide eyes.

“What are you…”

“It’s the damned Beretta,” he growls, and AJ can see the silvery gleam of the gun in its holster, the glint of buckles amid the leather straps of the shoulder harness as Pagan grabs one and starts working at it. “It’s bothering you. No, making you _afraid_ of me, and I never meant…I showed you to reassure you, not frighten you. Reassure you that nothing could harm you, dear boy. But like most things, I went and fucked it up…” as he yanks at a strap impatiently. “I can tell, you haven’t been yourself all evening.”

He doesn’t bother to deny it.

Finally Pagan gets it off, rolls it up into a neat bundle and walks around to the back of the car, where he pops the trunk and shoves the gun back there. He closes the lid with a thump and AJ watches warily as he comes back with a blanket, which he throws in the back seat. But instead of getting in the driver’s seat, he climbs into the back as AJ watches him from the corner of his eye.

“Care to join me? There’s more room back here, more comfortable for starwatching. It really is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, a little coldly. “I’m good right where I am.”

“Ah, well…suit yourself,” Pagan says peaceably enough as he stretches out and unfolds the blanket over himself, leaning his head against the side of the backseat.

AJ goes back to contemplating the sky when Pagan doesn’t say anything more. It doesn’t take long, however, before that wind starts feeling downright chilly, biting into him. His thin t-shirt does little to stop it and he tucks his arms around himself, but that doesn’t help much either. Soon his fucking teeth begin to chatter.

“AJ, you’re freezing,” Pagan says softly behind him. “Won’t you come and lie down with me again? Please. I’ve managed to make you wary of me and I hate that. Is there any way you can forgive me…you’re so cold and you don’t have to be, I’ll hold you. Please…”

Pagan’s low, warm, nearly hypnotic voice caresses him and it’s the tiny hint of pleading that tugs at him, the way he makes it sound like he wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms. But he stays frozen in place, his head whirling with the sharp desire to go to him, to press himself full-length against Pagan’s warm body, and the equally sharp desire to not be such an idiot and stay alive and ideally, still sane. When he doesn’t respond, Pagan reaches out very slowly and barely touches his fingertips to the chilled skin of his arm.

“I can take you home instead…”

“No,” he finds himself saying through clenched teeth, just to keep his chin from trembling. The answer changed, at some tipping point. When or _why_ he doesn’t know. Pagan wraps his hand around his upper arm but he doesn’t pull at him, merely tries to chafe some heat into his skin.

AJ closes his eyes, curses himself for a fucking moron and climbs over the center console and into the back with him.

Just like before, Pagan opens his arms for him, puts warm hands on him and draws him in. More cramped than the couch, but they make do, as he tucks himself between Pagan and the back of the seat. When Pagan pulls the blanket around them both the little pocket of heat his body has made is so warm against his chilled skin it feels like sinking into a hot bath. As promised, Pagan tucks his arms around him and holds him close and he squeezes him back with the arm that isn’t trapped under him.

Either he gives a shit about him, for reasons he can’t even begin to fathom, or Pagan’s the best actor in LA. He sighs and shivers for an entirely different reason and buries his cold nose into his shirtfront.

As they hold each other there in the spangled dark he can forget for a while. Pagan’s good at making him forget what they are when he does shit like this, a body against his without demands, just heat and his spicy good smell sinking into him. This time mixed with just a hint of cheeseburger, as he smiles a little into the front of his shirt.

Pagan’s the first to break their silence.

“Does this mean that you forgive me?” A touch of playfulness in his voice, spoken softly against the top of his head.

“I don’t know yet. You did this on purpose, didn’t you,” he mutters accusingly, as Pagan’s hands run gently over his shoulders and down his back. “Knew it’d be fucking freezing up here.”

“Hardly, dear boy. You give me far too much credit for cunning I don’t possess. Haven’t you realized by now that I’m…rather impulsive?”

“Yeah, I guess you are,” as Pagan runs a hand up into the back of his hair, and he shivers again at the feel of his fingers there. Trembles, as they tighten a little, and Pagan picks up on it.

“Are you still cold? You don’t feel as if you are.”

A moment of truth, of honesty. He raises his head, and when he does so it puts them nearly nose to nose. Pagan’s dark eyes glitter in the starlight.

“No Pagan, I’m not,” he murmurs, and then it’s Pagan’s turn to shiver against him. It occurs to him that their mouths are awfully close together.

It feels like they’re the only two people in the entire world.

“Is this okay,” he whispers, as he slides his hand up to Pagan’s face to brush his thumb over his nose, along the line of his ridiculous cheekbone. They’re close enough that he can hear Pagan swallow, so close that he can feel his heartbeat speed up under his forearm where it rests on his chest. Scant inches between them, so close to having their lips brush each other.

But Pagan’s eyebrows furrow.

“I have to ask you, AJ,” he says, so softly, “are you on the clock?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling a little. “We can do whatever you want. Like,” and it’s his turn to have to swallow, “pretty much _anything_ you want. And I don’t…I usually don’t make that offer. But…” _You’re different, somehow. Everything feels different with you._

Pagan doesn’t respond for a while, merely examines his face in the dim light for…something, he doesn’t know what.

Finally, he sighs.

“…I see,” is all he says, and tips his head back to examine the sky again. Although neither have them have moved an inch, he can feel him drawing away all the same.

And it’s starting to needle at him, the constant rejection. It stings his pride enough that it pisses him off. He has his mouth open to say some variant of _What, am I not good enough? Am I only fit to shove a dildo in you while you make absolutely fucking sure to never look at me? Will I dirty you somehow, if you let me touch you?_

The shame of it maybe being true sets his face to burning.

He has his mouth open, all ready to say that stuff…but something makes him shut it, shut it and _think. _And then it hits him.

“I’m on the clock, yeah,” he says slowly, carefully, “…but I don’t have to be.” Gently, he runs his thumb against the softness of his bottom lip and drinks in his tiny, shuddering sigh. “Say I’m off the clock as of right now. What would you do?”

A kind of joy creeps into Pagan’s face as he smiles that little smile for him again, the one that lights up his eyes, warm and sweet. He cocks his head as if he’s admiring him as he slides his hands up to cup his face.

“Darling boy, I should like to kiss you,” he whispers in that soft, rough-silky voice of his. And leans in, and gently presses their lips together.

That first warm, velvety rub of his mouth against his jolts like an electric charge. Some embarrassing noise escapes him, a kind of surprised grunt against Pagan’s lips and it makes Pagan laugh against his, a low chuckle. But when he darts his tongue against Pagan’s bottom lip suddenly he’s not laughing. Neither of them are as it becomes something _urgent_ when Pagan opens for him immediately. It takes them a few moments to find the rhythm of it, but only a few until they’re moving together, breathing together, tongues sliding softly together. Like stoking hot, wet flame.

“God,” Pagan whispers into the heated air between them as they break apart, just a little.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Pagan grimaces, his nose scrunching up. AJ’d never admit it out loud, but it’s pretty cute. “Is it that obvious? Am I that out of practice?”

“Nah. No more than I am. Been a long time for me too.”

“Hmm…but I would have thought…”

AJ grins at him.

“What, you think I go making out with everybody? Fuck no, I don’t kiss on the job. And right now I’m definitely not on the job. Just here, with you,” and with that he pulls him back in for another round of those devastatingly hot kisses as Pagan’s hands slide down and then under the hem of his shirt.

Big hands, _warm_ hands running up his back, along the sensitive skin of his ribs, his sides as he gasps against Pagan’s mouth just from that. His own hand fumbles with his shirt buttons until he gets them all undone, and then it’s Pagan’s turn to gasp as he explores the soft, satiny skin of his heaving belly.

Just feeling and cataloguing with that first slow hot slide of hands, soft and unhurried. Pagan pulls away just to fasten his mouth on his throat instead and he absolutely stretches his neck to give him better access as he makes that pleased rumbling sound again. This time right against where his pulse beats under the skin, followed by little sucking kisses, Pagan’s tongue working against that spot. He closes his eyes and _shivers._

One of Pagan’s hands slides down across his hip and between them to cup him through his jeans.

“Yeah,” he whispers in Pagan’s ear, who also shivers a little under him.

“Yeah?” Teasing him as he moves his fingers to the button and with only a little fumbling manages to pop it open.

“Oh yeah…_please,_” he mutters, at the thought of it and then those long fingers slide against him as Pagan works them past the fabric and he pushes up to help get everything down enough. No worries about being cold now, wrapped up with him so warmly as Pagan takes the opportunity to explore him as well, ghosting a thumb across his balls and then up along the crease of his thigh. Lazily, unhurriedly, until he’s nearly squirming to have those fingers on him again.

“My, how the tables have turned! So impatient,” Pagan says with a grin.

But he doesn’t tease anymore, just grasps him gently and _strokes_ as AJ sucks in air between his teeth. Between lying half on top of Pagan and half wedged against the seat there’s not a lot of room to move but that makes it better somehow, trapped warmly against his solid body. Just enough leverage to rock up into his fist a little and it feels good enough to wring a groan from him, Pagan himself already hard against his hip. He quivers as that pleasurable tension builds down at the base of his spine, so quickly, spreading hot and heavy through his groin.

“Beautiful boy…so beautiful,” Pagan breathes between them, low and shivery warm. “Is that good? Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck, that’s…move your thumb just a…ohhh that’s good, right…right there, that’s perfect…” The friction dragging deliciously and _just right_ on the underside of his cock as he gasps. “But if you keep that up I’m gonna…_damn_…gonna come on your nice pants.”

“Fuck it, they’ll wash,” Pagan growls, but he fumbles Pagan’s belt loose with his free hand anyway, partly to get his trousers out of range but mostly to get at his hard cock that keeps bumping gently against his hipbone. He’s close enough now that he’s trembling all over and he might have distracted Pagan a little by catching his mouth with his, a slow, hot slide of tongues to match the slow, hot stroking of his hand, but it doesn’t matter.

The hoarse sound that Pagan makes when he finally, finally gets his own hand around him is like music as he catches it against his lips.

Shared heat and shared breath there in the dark of his closed eyelids, heightening sensation as they find a rhythm of pleasure together. Pagan’s free hand runs up to his shoulders and back down along his spine to the small of his back where it settles, pressing in gently and encouraging that rhythm, building their shared tension higher and tighter. Pagan’s breath shudders out of him raggedly as his own blood roars in his ears. Riding that raw edge, so close…

“Come for me,” Pagan whispers, warm and rough, and with a few more strokes tips him headlong over that edge with his heart slamming in his chest. Wave after wave of pleasure spilling out of him as he pushes his face into the side of Pagan’s throat and tries to keep his own hand moving steadily through it for him. Not that he’s able to do a great job, just too difficult when it feels like he’s being turned inside out as starbursts go off behind his closed eyes. Full-body, groaning shiver as he gasps Pagan’s name.

“That’s it, that’s my good boy,” as Pagan twines his fingers in his hair and nuzzles at his cheek, his ear as he gently works him through the last warm tingles of it.

Chest heaving, he lies limply against him and waits to get his breath back.

“Give me just a sec,” he pants out, opening his eyes. “That was…fuck, that was _intense,_” and Pagan grins bright and happy, pleased and maybe preening a little. Then his eyebrows furrow.

“A second for what?” He sounds genuinely curious, like he’s not expecting reciprocation or something. AJ answers him by grinning back at him and wriggling down.

But then thinks better of it.

“Is this…this okay? I mean…”

“My boy, I’ve merely been waiting for you to get off work, as it were. You can do whatever you like to me, _with_ me…I’ve been yearning for you. Haven’t been able to get you out of my head, wanting you so much,” he says, sweetly confessional. “_Please_.” His eyes are so bright, full of stars.

_Me too,_ he thinks. _I don’t know what the fuck that means…for me, for you, for us. But me too._

Instead of admitting that out loud, AJ kisses his way down and makes a brief stop to clean up after himself, lapping at Pagan’s firm belly. He never did object to his own and Pagan _likes_ it, judging by the way he squirms under his ministrations, and _he_ likes the way his hard cock rubs hotly against his throat. Pagan sprawls out wider for him in the cramped space, one knee shoved against the back of the front seat. The other leg he wraps around him as he scoots down a little more.

He looks up along Pagan’s torso and meets his eyes…and finally takes him in his mouth.

To see him finally give himself up, to surrender, to put himself in AJ’s hands; to see him close his eyes in pleasure, to watch as his lips part with a soft gasp…god. Beautiful.

Oh, and he tastes as good as he smells. Clean and soapy and pleasantly, warmly male under that, all aroused and excited and like hot silk against his tongue. It’s been ages since he’s done this with a guy and he’s _missed_ it.

No, take that back. Missed doing it with someone he gives even a marginal shit about, as Pagan chokes out a gasp and tightens his fingers in his hair.

“Oh, _fuck,_” Pagan groans above his head, and then makes that rumbling, pleased sound again, that purr that goes straight fucking south...or would if it had been more than five minutes since he came so hard that he saw stars. As it is it just curls and pools warmly in his belly instead, as Pagan trembles under him, already close. Close but keeping a tight rein on himself, a perfect gentleman as he shudders but keeps his ass glued to the backseat and lets him take only as much as he’s comfortable with. Even lets go of his hair, afraid of pulling too hard maybe and runs a thumb tenderly along the shell of his ear instead.

A little out of practice with this as well, but Pagan’s too far gone to appreciate finesse anyway as he just applies his tongue to the underside and concentrates on keeping teeth out of the way. Another minute or so, another choked off gasp and Pagan tugs at the fabric of his shirt in warning, and when that doesn’t work pushes at his shoulder, which he appreciates the courtesy of, but…

…he absolutely, without a doubt wants him to come in his mouth, further proof that he’s a lust-clouded _idiot._ He doesn’t even do this without a condom, for fuck’s sake, not with clients.

But Pagan’s not.

At least, not right here, right now. He’s off the clock.

In this moment they’re something else, as he swallows around him and Pagan moans hoarsely and goes rigid under him.

What’s also stupid is how much he’s enjoying this as he rides out his climax with him, every pulse and throb against his tongue and the warm, salty taste of him. Savoring it until it’s too much and Pagan tugs at him again, and this time he lets him pull him off. But Pagan keeps pulling at him, up into his arms and into a kiss that’s slow and gentle but deep.

With Pagan’s big warm hands cupped around his face, he finds he appreciates that too, a man who’s not afraid of a little of his own come, he thinks dizzily, sleepily. Maybe it’s a thank you kind of kiss, as Pagan lightens it until it’s an easy, warm press of his mouth.

With a hand on the back of his head, Pagan gently encourages him to lay his head on his shoulder and gets the blanket wrapped around them again, which he appreciates even more because his shirt is rucked up somewhere around his armpits. But this has the added benefit of bare skin pressed warmly together, so it’s not like he’s in a hurry to tug it back down.

“My boy, that was _awesome,_” Pagan says in low and reverent tones, which seems like an entirely Pagan thing to say, but he also may have dreamed it because it sounds like his voice is at the other end of a long tunnel as he dozes off.

Sometime later AJ wakes groggily from his half sleep, maybe confused about a lot of things but not confused about who has their arm warmly and solidly around him as the cool mountain wind ruffles his hair. Pagan has his other arm tucked under his head and looks to be awake and gazing at the stars when he lifts his head, but his eyes are only about half open.

“Didn’t mean to pass out on you,” as he stretches and yawns.

“Hmm?” Vague and half-asleep himself. “Oh no, don’t apologize, it was lovely. Is still being lovely, really.”

They lie there mostly comfortable, considering the circumstances. His anxiety about this whole situation, that felt so rational and immediate and necessary a couple of hours ago feels dim and distant now. He stretches and yawns again and runs a hand down Pagan’s soft side, perfectly content to go on lying there.

“So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, I’ve had this _idea,_ you see, for how we might…hmm, approach things between us, going forward.”

“Um, okay.”

“What I had in mind was some financial arrangement of exclusivity,” he says delicately. “And you need only name your price.”

AJ blinks at that. “I think you’re gonna have to be less subtle, because I really have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

Pagan sighs and rubs at the back of his head.

“Pfft, _fine._ How much do I need to pay to keep you from fucking other people?”

And he busts out laughing, he can’t help it. It’s so ridiculous.

“What, like…a fucking patron or something? Me being some kind of _kept man?_” The idea sets him off again, but a glance at Pagan’s face in the starlight… “Shit, you’re serious. _Why?_”

“Say I’m a jealous man. Say the idea of you…it’s beginning to _bother_ me,” he says, jaw tight and not looking at him. “How much? Whatever you make in a month, I’ll double it.”

“Jesus Christ, _no._ That’s…I’m not putting myself under anybody’s thumb that way, oh hell no!” And before he can censor himself: “Not…not even for you, Pagan. Not even for you.”

“AJ, darling boy,” he says softly, “it would be different if you enjoyed the work. But you don’t, I believe. I get that idea, and even if I were wrong you’re already twenty-eight now, you can’t do this forev…”

An icy wash instantly replaces the warmth that resided in his chest and belly. His birthday was two weeks ago. No way, absolutely _no way_ that Pagan should know that about him, know _any_ personal info like that about him. And Pagan knows it, because he abruptly shuts his mouth and blanches, goes so pale he can see it even in the dark.

There it is, that anxiety, the wary _fear_ of him that he should have been feeling all along.

It rushes over him, chasing that ice as he slams his hand down into Pagan’s midsection. Pagan, not expecting it, makes a pained ‘ooof’ sound that might have been comical under other circumstances as he uses that hand to propel himself off of him and over to the other side of the backseat.

He briefly considers scrambling over the side and out into the dark, but the question remains: and go where, exactly?

“Explain,” he growls at him instead, “explain how you know that _right fucking now_ or I swear to god I’m outta here, I don’t even give a shit…”

“No, please don’t do that, there’s…ugh, _rattlesnakes_ and things out there, coyotes, god only knows what else…here,” and Pagan leaves off rubbing his stomach to fish around in his pants pocket. AJ stiffens in alarm, but it’s only to produce his keys. “Here, take them, take the car if you feel you need to, to _go_, I understand, I’ve managed to massively fuck things up _yet again_ and I can hardly blame you. I can call a cab for myself. Just…try not to wreck it, I’ve only just now paid it off, please…” Pagan tries to press the keys into his hand, and when he flinches away deposits them in his lap instead.

AJ stares at him, disarmed by confusion as Pagan backs away to give him room and quickly buttons his shirt back up.

“One handy and me sucking you off and you’re trying to, to give me your _car_ or something? I don’t…”

“I’d much rather loan you the thing than have you fall off a cliff in the dark!” as he shoves the tail of his shirt into his trousers with sharp, agitated movements.

Something about that gives him pause. Nothing about this is right, nothing is adding up. AJ stares at him, thinking, thinking.

“Who the fuck _are_ you?”

Pagan’s hands slow, still in the middle of buckling his belt. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and stares up at the heavens.

“Well,” he says heavily, “to answer that question, I think you may as well start with the Wikipedia page.”

***


	8. A Kind of Torture

***

Of all the possible things that AJ expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

“The fuckin’ _what?_”

“Pagan Min, at your service,” he says sardonically, with a little bow.

“Wait, Pagan’s your _real name?_ You’re shitting me.”

“No, no…I assure you, real as anything else. And with that, I’ll leave you to it,” as he reaches into the front seat for his jacket and pulls it back on, settling the fabric across his shoulders. “While you read that I’ll just…be right over here, yes? I can answer questions after you’re done. Or you can leave, if that’s what you decide you wish to do.”

With that, he strides off to perch himself on one of the nearby rocks with his back turned to him, looking out over the city lights.

Numbly, he gets his own jeans fastened…and reaches into his pocket for his phone.

The white light of Pagan’s inexplicable Wiki page on the screen hurts sharply after so long with only the stars. He squints through it, but the second line has his eyes widening again.

_Pagan Min,_ he reads, _ also known as Min Gang, born 1966, Hong Kong. Former King of Kyrat, 1987-2003. Abdicated in favor of a constitutional democracy in 2003, after which the country descended into chaos. Current whereabouts unknown. _

Not much more than that, and nothing really personal. He might have his own page, but it’s pretty short. Not even a picture of him.

_King of Kyrat._ That hits his belly with another icy rush.

There’s no way that can be true, he’s not even Kyrati. The place is so small that it’s rare to even find someone else who knows where the fuck it is, let alone…

…it’s his mom. It’s something to do with Mom, has to be. That’s the connection. But why did he lie, when _Pagan_ was the one who was asking about her and Kyrat? Why play dumb? He glances up to see Pagan idly entertaining himself by chucking pebbles off the edge of the cliff.

_Former King of Kyrat._

Figuring the only way to get answers is to ask, he climbs out of the car and marches over there, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Pagan looks up and pats the rock beside him, but he’s not in the mood for sitting down. He waves his phone in his general direction.

“Okay, this really doesn’t tell me jack shit.”

“Oh?” Pagan says cheerfully. “Granted, I did go in and edit out numerous and _wildly_ inaccurate conspiracy theories…”

“Cur the bullshit,” he says coldly. “What’s this garbage about you being the King of fucking _Kyrat?_ You knew my mom somehow, didn’t you?”

“Ding ding! I knew you were a smart boy,” and drops him a little wink. The urge to slap the fuck out of him is suddenly strong. “I was indeed the King. As it turns out, _anyone_ can hold that dubious distinction, if they’re willing to pay enough for it. And as to how I know when you were born, well, I was there for it! I was a friend of your mother’s and…we ended up falling in love, back when we were young.”

“Must not have meant much to her,” he retorts. “Not like she ever even mentioned _you_.”

And oh, that fucking scores. He may as well have gone ahead and slapped him, it might have wounded him less. That look…he’s seen that expression before. That night he was so drunk, his dark eyes pleading with him, draped over that table and wanting it to _hurt._

Then his face smooths to a bland pleasantness. He snorts laughter, but there’s not much actual mirth in it.

“Well. Perhaps you’re right. That was…an awfully long time ago. Shall I tell you the whole squalid and filthy tale?” That jolly façade thrown right up like a wall in his face. It deflates his anger. Makes him feel small, and petty.

“That wasn’t…I didn’t mean to hurt you,” AJ murmurs. “I miss her, so goddamn much. I guess you do too. I’m sorry,” and on pure impulse awkwardly wraps his arms around him. Pagan stiffens and tries to pull away, but he hangs gamely on. He holds him as well as he can from this weird angle, the rock he’s sitting on in the way and presses his lips to the side of his neck. Holds him until he sighs and goes limp against him.

The more he says out loud, the more clear this bizarre picture becomes in his mind, his brow furrowed in thought. “That’s why you hired me, isn’t it? Because you…I know I look like her. You tracked me down somehow, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Pagan says quietly. “But you’re right. I owe you an explanation, and so I really ought to start at the beginning…”

And he does.

AJ’s eyes widen as Pagan speaks to the dark sky about his mother, his father, his baby sister. Taking the throne when he was twenty, the year AJ was born. Took it in an act of betrayal and chaos to keep it away from someone even worse. Mohan. AJ had never even known his name.

“When he found out about your mother and I, he went madder than he already was. He managed to creep in late one night and…and killed her, our little girl.” Pagan keeps his eyes locked on the city skyline, not looking at him at all. “He tried to take you, and Ishwari shot him dead. And then she left me a note saying that she loved me and we’d be together again, and it would be foolish of me to point out that this obviously didn’t happen.”

Pagan says this calmly, dispassionately, almost robotically, like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t _care_ but AJ can feel him tremble all over. Shit, he himself is trembling all over. His mom _killed_ his father?

“C’mon, lets get back in the car and we can talk,” he says, but he can’t quite disguise the shake in his own voice. Pagan lets him lead him back and he reaches out and tucks his car keys back in his front pocket. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

“If you’re sure,” he says simply, quietly, and lets AJ pulls his jacket off of him again. He climbs back in the backseat and tugs him by the hand to sit in front of him so Pagan can lean his head back against his shoulder, so they can both watch the sky.

“I don’t remember you,” he whispers in Pagan’s ear. This whole night is starting to feel like some kind of fever dream, surreal and dark and painful and beautiful. “I don’t remember Kyrat or my…my sister or any of that.”

“I know. You were only three.” Pagan swallows hard. “I waited for her,” he whispers. “I waited and _waited_ while Kyrat slowly killed me, and I know that sounds ridiculously dramatic. But there’s something about that place that is…ruinous. It’s so gorgeous but such a hellhole, my boy. Drugs, drink, loneliness, and no one there to say Pagan, you need to snap out of this, you need to pick yourself up off the floor, you need to fucking get a _grip._”

A shuddering sigh gusts out of him, and he unbuttons Pagan’s shirt just enough to touch his side in soft sweeps of his hand. His fingers find the puckered edges of a scar and trace along it, maybe done with a knife or something, he can’t tell. But it doesn’t seem to bother him, for AJ to touch them.

“And so I finally came here,” Pagan says. “But I couldn’t go to her. I never thought of myself as a coward, and yet I found myself darkening her doorstep again and again but I just…couldn’t. I don’t know if she would have even recognized me, had I found the courage to knock. That young man that she’d loved, well…there really wasn’t much left of him, by that point. But I’ll watch and wait and I’ll be here, I told myself. I’ll be nearby, if they need me,” with so much bitterness in his voice. “That didn’t turn out to be true either.”

Fucking hell, he believes this insane story, every goddamn word of it as Pagan slumps against him like he’s exhausted just from telling it. Every iota of his prickly weirdness is beginning to make a terrible kind of sense in the face of…Jesus, he doesn’t even know what to call it. PTSD?

And his fucking _father._ All Mom had told him that he’d died back in Kyrat. ‘And good riddance,’ she’s once said, sharp and fierce-eyed, and he’d not brought him up again.

“So now we’re to the point when I started turning tricks to eat and pay what I could of Mom’s medical bills,” and Pagan flinches against him. “Hey, don’t…you didn’t know. Couldn’t have. _I_ didn’t fucking know she was sick…like you said, she was so stubborn, so determined to not to be a burden and decided to just…just fucking die on me instead, like that was better. I still don’t understand why she wanted to go so bad. I just did what I had to do and…”

The stars overhead start to swim a little and Pagan’s hand finds his inside his shirt and touches the back of it gently. Slides his own over his and entwines their fingers. Pagan rubs his thumb softly over his and is quiet for a long time.

“Ajay Ghale,” he says eventually, a soft purr that makes him shiver. “Your real name, one I honestly favor over the Americanized version. Knowing that and your birthdate made it simple to find the agency you work for, but that fellow that’s nominally your boss…honestly, if he worked for me I’d have him dragged out and shot. For a mere five hundred he gave me everything he had on file: your address, your social security number, your mobile number…”

“Wait, wait…Rusty did what?”

Pagan nods sagely. “Such a man isn’t worth dogshit on the sidewalk. But even more than that, he told me every personal detail he knew about you, and that frightened me. Here he was, so willing to betray you to a stranger for what amounted to pennies. He had absolutely no idea who I was. Didn’t give a shit either. So I threatened to come cut his balls off if he told another soul, and arranged a new client meeting with you.”

AJ realizes his mouth is hanging open a little. He has no idea what to say.

“But, if it makes you feel any better, I do think he believed me, about the balls thing that is,” Pagan says brightly. “Which, of course, was absolutely not an idle threat. I still have _teeth,_ even here. I maintain many of my old connections…and I’ll keep an eye on him for you. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

It actually does make him feel better, in a seriously fucked up way, as he strokes his fingers through Pagan’s hair. But here in the star-shot, unreal dark, all that matters is the two of them. Even that concern feels dim and distant. He shifts under Pagan’s warm weight and squeezes his fingers. _I just want to think about you, and us, if there even IS an us but it’s starting to feel like it, at least a little. I think we’re standing at the edge of something…_

Pagan wriggles back against him to get more comfortable. So different than two weeks ago, or even two hours ago. Now very willing to touch, to be touched in turn, almost basking in it. Good to be here like this and finally able to have his hands on him, to be able to snuffle into the crook of his neck under his collar, which earns him a pleased little sigh.

“I think…I think I understand, about the being off the clock thing. I get it now,” AJ says thoughtfully, a little muffled into his shirt. “It has to do with the money part, like…coercion, like being able to say no to stuff. Like you needed to be sure that you weren't paying for me to pretend to care about you or something.”

“Yes, exactly that. That first time I met with you, I had absolutely no intention of…engaging your services. I just wanted to check on you, see you for myself. But I wasn’t at all prepared for the reality of this stunningly beautiful young man with _her_ eyes looking back at me…god,” and AJ’s ears heat up, not that Pagan can see it in the dark. “You obviously didn’t remember me in the slightest, as you quite rudely tapped your foot and waited for me to get to the _point_ of your visit. And I…impulsively offered my terms. I had thought, well, I’m helping support him. As long as we don’t touch and I don’t let him bring me off, we can keep a nice distance about things, I reasoned.”

“So you shut your eyes and laid there and pretended I was Mom doing it,” and Pagan stiffens against him.

“At first, yes. I did, I admit it. And I’m so _sorry_ darling, I…”

“Don’t,” he says softly. “Don’t be. You…that must’ve been a kind of torture for you.”

“I think that perhaps over the years what I felt for her became more for the idea of her rather than the reality. After all, we only had two years together, not even long enough for the new to wear off of it,” Pagan says slowly, thoughtfully, as if he's understanding this for the first time. “But it didn’t take long for me to start feeling…that desire for you instead. Just you. And that’s when it began to be _real_ torture."

Pagan reaches back with his free hand to cradle the back of AJ’s head and laughs darkly. “And let me tell you…guilt is not an emotion I am in any way accustomed to, and I’ve been harsh with you and snapped at you and I’m sorry for that as well. I never, ever meant to hurt you. But oh, my lovely boy, despite everything and every wall that stood between us you came to…to want me, to care for me as well, didn’t you? And that…”

Pagan shuts his eyes and his mouth before he says things that neither of them are ready to hear. AJ swallows.

“Listen, can we go back to your place, you think? I have the rest of the night off. And the whole day off tomorrow. Not gonna lie…I’ve been sort of admiring your giant bed. Can’t think of a better way to spend my day off than with you.” He frowns a little. Maybe that was kind of forward. “If, you know…if you want.”

Head tipped back against AJ’s shoulder, Pagan opens his eyes, dark and warm and full of starlight.

“I should like that very much,” he murmurs.

***


	9. More Than Enough

***

The long drive back to Pagan’s place gives AJ a lot of time to think things over. Everything that Pagan’s told him is just…a lot to take in. A _lot._ The idea of Pagan sleeping with his mom, having a child with his mom, then following her across the fucking ocean and watching them for an entire _decade_ is so creepy. And him phoning up his boss and straight bribing him for his personal records? Jesus. He should be kind of appalled. Probably anybody with any sense would be.

But what would he have done, in similar circumstances? He tries to put himself in Pagan’s desperate, heartsore, longing shoes, but it’s difficult. The King of Kyrat, and he gave it all up. Her entire _country_ and a life with Pagan, and she gave it all up.

There was so much that she would never say, and he feels a pang in his chest for the both of them. Maybe for all three of them.

He looks over at Pagan’s profile in the dark, shadowed and then illuminated in turns by the harsh glare of streetlights. It’s a worn, battered face, despite the makeup and the stylish fall of blond hair. A striking, handsome face, with eyes that are so tired.

AJ still really doesn’t know what to think of him at all.

Mom baggage aside, he’s undoubtedly killed people. There’s a deep pool of anguish, of rage in him. He’s seen both, had both more or less aimed at him.

Also had his hands running gently along his skin, pulling him close. The sweetness of his expression right before he kissed him, the joy in it.

All those scars.

But he wonders. He looks at him and wonders if maybe they couldn’t find something good together. Something that might be a kind of happiness, in spite of everything. Like Pagan said, so many walls between them, and yet…even now, knowing what he knows, whatever it is he feels for him is still there. That little spark still untarnished, like his idiot heart doesn’t give a flying fuck.

The world’s taken a giant shit on the both of them, in his thinking. It’s not like he doesn’t have a few scars of his own, as he rubs a thoughtful thumb along the nick in his eyebrow. People like them, they don’t get a lot of chances at happy. Maybe it’d make him even more of an idiot to throw that away before he’s even really looked it over, what they maybe _could_ be.

And he reaches out and takes Pagan’s hand, twining their fingers together. Pagan glances down at their hands resting together on his thigh, then focuses his eyes back on the road. But the corner of his mouth quirks up as he strokes his thumb across his knuckles.

The guard on duty in the glass security booth of Pagan’s building gives them a bored wave and raises the gate to let them into the underground garage. When they get out of the car, Pagan puts the top back up and locks up, but as he walks away AJ glances back at the guard in the security station. When he says his name, Pagan turns and looks a question at him.

With another quick glance in that direction: “What about the thing in the trunk?”

Pagan frowns at him, thinking, and then his face clears.

“Oh, no worries about that my boy, it’ll be fine right where it is for the moment. I have plenty of others!”

AJ rolls his eyes. “Of course you fucking do,” as Pagan claps him on the shoulder companionably.

Everything still feels a little strange and surreal as he follows Pagan under the flickering fluorescent lights to the elevator, up and up, all the way to the top of this high rise. It’s a journey he’s made many times now, but never with him as Pagan leans a hip against the railing on the other side of the mirror-lined box they’re in, oddly quiet for the moment. Too tired to talk maybe, which might be a first.

AJ wonders if he’s beginning to have second thoughts about all of this as he takes in his crossed arms, the little furrow between his eyebrows.

And then he suddenly looks up and meets his eyes, as if a thought has struck him. A cheerful thought.

“Would you like to have a shower with me? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Taken aback, he thinks it over for a second. “Yeah that…that sounds good.” He can feel his face flush a little.

Pagan peers at him sharply. “Don’t be afraid to say no. In fact, you should tell me no from time to time! Like exercise and vegetables, it’s good for me!” He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. A little manic and overtired.

“Nah, I like the idea. Shower, then sleep. That all right?”

“If that’s what you’d like, dear boy,” as he gives him a little wink.

As soon as Pagan gets the door unlocked and safely shut behind them, he immediately heads down the hall and AJ follows slowly behind him.

He pokes his head through the bedroom door as Pagan is in the middle of stripping down like he can’t stand to have clothes on for another minute, leaving a trail of laundry in his wake as he heads into the bathroom to take his makeup off at the sink without a thing on. He grabs the hem of his own shirt to pull it off but pauses, suddenly and unaccountably weirded out.

It’s not that he’s _shy_ or anything. In his job you get over that fast, seeing naked bodies, being naked yourself in front of strangers…no big deal. But Pagan’s different. It’s always been different with him. This…whatever it is, this is just for them, but now that he’s not working there’s different rules. Ones that he doesn’t know…

…Pagan’s hands touch down on his shoulders from behind.

“You’re freaking out,” he says, quiet concern in his voice. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me.”

He twists uncomfortably under his hands, wondering what in the hell is wrong with him.

“No, you didn’t do anything. I just…don’t know what it is that we’re doing.” Pagan lets his hands drop, and perversely he misses their solid warmth as soon as it’s gone.

“Well, I _thought_ we were going to take a shower and go to bed. But…no matter,” a little brusque as he brushes past him. AJ watches as he takes his robe down from the back of the bathroom door and methodically pulls it on. Then he strides to another door, which turns out to be a large walk-in closet. He rummages around in there for a moment and walks back out.

“Here,” Pagan says, and puts soft fabric into his automatically outstretched hands. “There’s towels and washcloths and things in the other bathroom. The guest bed’s comfortable, or the couch, whatever you prefer.” He pauses and rubs a hand irritably over his face like he’s kind of done dealing with him. “Or if you would rather go home I’ll see you out. But you’ll have to take the bus I’m afraid, I’m far too tired to drive.”

He stands there holding Pagan’s pajamas and doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Tries to process as he observes the disappointment in Pagan’s eyes that he can’t quite hide. When he doesn’t say anything for a few more seconds, Pagan sighs and takes him by the elbow and leads him out into the hallway.

“Well, AJ my boy, I had a _lovely_ time this evening but I must be off to bed. If you decide to leave, be a dear and make sure the door’s locked behind you, if you don’t mind.”

_Off to bed, without you._ His heart suddenly lurches in his chest.

“Wait, wait…that’s not what I want.”

His indecisiveness pushes Pagan over some edge of exhausted temper. “Then what the fuck is it that you _do_ want,” he bites out, harsh and rough. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

AJ’s eyes narrow, his own temper pricked at. “I’m not used to what I want mattering too much,” he growls. “There’s shit I’m willing to do, and shit I’m not, but what I actually _want_ hasn’t exactly been in the equation. Or even real high on the priority list. So just _give_ me a fucking minute, all right?”

Pagan stands there and blinks at him for a moment.

“I’m sorry boy, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, and AJ’s shocked to see his eyes fill a little. He irritably wipes that moisture away with the sleeve of his robe and reaches for him with gentle hands. He lets Pagan pull him into his arms and rests his own head against his shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he relaxes into him.

“Tonight, I just want to be wherever you are,” he whispers into the side of Pagan’s throat. It’s easier to say with his face pressed there, his eyes closed. “With you. That’s all I know.”

“That’s more than enough, my dear,” Pagan whispers back. “That’s plenty.”

Pagan holds him for a long time, close and warm and pressed together full-length. When they finally separate, he grabs one of his hands and takes his pajamas back from his other and chucks them in the general direction of the dresser. He tugs him by the into the bathroom with him with a little smile, and when he runs his hands over his waist AJ expects him to pull his shirt off, but he pauses.

“You don’t have to make all the decisions in this…this time we spend together. But if I do something that you don’t like, you need to _tell_ me because I can’t read your mind. Will you do that for me?”

AJ nods.

“Promise me.”

He rolls his eyes. “God, I’m not fucking fragile or something.” Pagan’s expression goes a little dark, like gathering storm clouds. “Jesus, don’t get pissed about it. I got it, I promise that I will.”

Like the sun coming out again, he breaks into a wide warm smile.

“Awesome! Excellent! I’m glad we could clear that up, I…_eumph_…” as AJ tips his chin up and kisses him, mostly to shut him up.

At first, anyway.

As Pagan runs his hands up under his shirt and coaxes it off they both melt into that kiss, only separating enough to get it over his head. Slow and easy and comforting. Just a tiny touch of his tongue against his as he relaxes against him again and reaches between them to undo the belt of his robe. Pagan’s hands slide down to pop the button on his jeans.

“You’ve probably seen your fill of me,” Pagan huffs a soft laugh, when they break apart a little. “But I’ve gotten to see nothing of you so far. Let me _look_ at you…”

With that, he hooks his fingers into his waistband and pushes everything down and off in one go. But it’s all right now, soft and warm and all right. The appreciative noise Pagan makes comes to rest down deep in him, that look on his face that he loves, like he’s everything. He slides his hands under the robe and eases it off his shoulders.

“No, definitely not tired of looking at you,” he murmurs, and gathers him up in his arms, pressing a kiss to his freckled skin.

That first time of touching him with nothing between them, hips and bellies and chests together, arms twined around each other, velvety and somehow both warm and cool at once has him sucking in a long breath with how good it feels. How right it feels. How good it _will_ feel, to be under the hot spray of the shower with him.

Pagan must have had the same thought at the same time, since he starts trying to move them closer to the shower cabinet, but also seems pretty unwilling to let go of him as he laughs.

They do have to untangle for just long enough to get the water started and climb in without falling on their asses. Once they’re in, Pagan rests his head against him drowsily and lets the water beat on his back, slowly flushing all pink from the heat. He admires the contrast they make, his darker hands sweeping along paler skin. Droplets of water caught in his eyelashes sparkle like tiny gems.

All this would have been enough to get him going again, except that the trusting vulnerability he sees in Pagan’s face sparks something that settles warm in his chest instead of down lower. Plenty of time for that later. Also plenty of time later to turn that feeling around and around in his mind and maybe figure out what it means. But for right now he just feels it, as he locates the soap among the other bottles crowding the shelf. And like Pagan said, that’s more than enough.

Actual washing gets done, more or less. Pagan rouses a little, enough to lather his back while he leans against the tiled wall and finds his eyes shutting against his will.

“All right, I think that’s enough. All rinsed?” Pagan’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away as he reaches past him to get the water turned off. He herds him out onto the bathmat and grabs the folded towel laid out on the sink, but when Pagan shakes it out it turns out to be stupidly, comically large. He’s exhausted enough that it strikes him as funny.

“You could dry like three people with this fuckin’ thing, seriously,” he says, marveling at it. To prove his point, he takes it away from Pagan and slings it around both of them at once, wrapping them up in it together with room to spare as he laughs. It’s even funnier when he catches sight of them in the mirror. Like a giant burrito with two heads. Pagan snorts at him but he’s smiling all the same.

“That’s a good sound to hear. I love it, hearing you laugh like that. I don’t even mind that it’s at my expense,” he murmurs, as he works an arm out of their towel cocoon to tug a corner of it up, rubbing at AJ’s hair.

“I’m not laughing at you,” as he nuzzles his whiskery cheek against Pagan’s. “You know that, right?”

“I know. You’re such a good, sweet boy. Come to bed with me, won’t you?” The way he says it makes those words burn into him like a hot little coal, like a promise.

“Yeah. I like that idea.” He smiles against Pagan’s ear, runs his nose along the soft skin behind it.

“Hmmm. Well…I’m afraid you’ll have to unwrap us first, however,” with a still-wet and fruitless wiggle against him that makes him laugh all over again.

***


	10. Burn

***

The darkened bedroom is downright chilly after the steamy heat of the bathroom and he dries off quickly with his fair half of the towel. Pagan flings the other half over him with a chuckle and by the time he gets it pulled off his head he’s already slid under the covers. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom, not wanting to leave it on Pagan’s good carpet, and when he turns back Pagan has the covers held up for him.

That _look,_ the warmth in his face…

“Come here, beautiful boy,” Pagan whispers, his eyes crinkling softly.

Drawn like a magnet, AJ climbs into the bed with him and lowers himself into his arms.

His sheets are decadently soft as they settle around him, but the feel of his freshly-showered skin against his might give them a run for their money as Pagan pulls him close and sighs like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Like there’s nowhere else he wants AJ to be tonight. Today, whenever it is. Gray early morning light spills across the pale carpet from the open doorway.

As they settle against each other, Pagan takes his face between his hands and kisses him, a soft press of his lips before he relaxes into the pillows.

“Goodnight,” AJ whispers, their heads together on the same pillow. He closes his eyes and listens to his soft even breaths, Pagan’s body already going heavy and pliant against his. But even tired as he is, sleep still eludes him. Maybe _too_ tired, or maybe just because it’s daylight already and a strange place. Definitely not used to this, but Pagan’s solid warmth eventually soothes him into a doze.

But it’s not long before he’s woken by Pagan rolling over, and then he accidentally wakes Pagan by poking him in the back of his calf with his foot. Wakes him again when he rolls over, neither of them used to sleeping with someone else at all. Pagan rolls over too and spoons up behind him, holding him.

“I’m keeping you awake, aren’t I,” AJ whispers to the darkened room.

Pagan yawns into the back of his hair. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“I could go sleep on the couch, let you get some rest…”

No answer from behind, but Pagan’s arm tightens around him like a steel band to prevent any escape on his part. He sighs and relaxes back into the curve of his body. Well, there’s his answer. But there’s something about this position that makes him feel genuinely sleepy, not just tired. He can feel Pagan already dozing off again, soft breaths against his hair. He runs his fingers along the arm wrapped around his middle until his eyes won’t stay open.

Hours later, he wakes to warmth running softly up his back. Up to his shoulders to rub soft circles there, then slowly down along the divot of his spine to brush against the small of his back. Hot breath against his shoulder as those hands run even lower and it feels so good, that heated friction against his skin. Fingertips delve teasingly into the sensitive crease between ass and thigh and then away again, up along his hip this time as he squirms back into that caress, wanting more of it.

Pagan. Pagan’s hands on him, in Pagan’s bed. An unspoken promise kept, as he feels his lips against the back of his neck. Nothing at all between them as he drowsily pushes himself back into his hands. Pagan makes a _needy_ little sound and grazes his throat with just a touch of his teeth, god.

And then he remembers, with a twisting in his stomach. Remembers what he is. Pagan is good at making him forget.

“Stop, stop for a sec,” he whispers, and Pagan freezes.

“What’s the matter…don’t you like it? Perhaps I should’ve woken you first and asked if…”

He rolls over to face him and Pagan misinterprets that movement as a signal to let go, to move away and he sighs. He lays his fingers over his mouth to stop his meandering apology.

“No, you don’t have to…I just need to talk to you for a second.” That twisting in his belly ramps up. He knows Pagan’s not _thinking_ right at the moment; hell, he nearly forgot himself. No idea how he’ll react as he tries to push that little voice down, the one in the back of his mind that whispers unhelpful shit like _whore_ and _filthy_ and _why would he want such damaged goods._ But he wants this, so much, wants _him,_ and it’s been so long since he’s really let himself want anything at all…

“AJ, tell me what’s wrong,” as Pagan’s hand brushes over his hair. His touch is just a little hesitant, a little tentative, and he closes his eyes. Worries that he’s managed to fuck this up before it even really got started.

“So I don’t really know what you have in mind, what you wanted to do but…I’ve tried to be really careful, as careful as I could, and nowadays I don’t have to do…the risky stuff at all, but I get tested every few months just in case. And I’m clean, never even had a false positive, but, well…that’s something that you need to think about, before we do anything else. That I _have_ done risky stuff. So I understand, if…” _If you feel like I’m too used, too tainted._ He shoves that down as best he can.

Pagan stares at him, brows knitted together. The afternoon sun pours through the windows out in the living room, but in here the square of hot light only reaches halfway across the carpet, leaving much of his face in shadow.

And then his expression clears.

“Oh AJ, you had me actually worried there for a moment! You had me thinking something was really wrong, not this…you’re being entirely silly, if you’ll pardon me saying so.” Pagan runs his long fingers along his jaw and tips his chin up to see his face better. “I see now,” he says gently. “Somewhere along the line you’ve told yourself things that aren’t true. That you’re somehow…sullied, or less than, haven’t you?”

AJ swallows and avoids his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.” No sense in lying about it.

“I do hate that. One, because it couldn’t be further from the truth, but also because if anyone here is _sullied_ it’s me. Darling boy, you may not realize it but there is so much old _blood_ on my hands. There’s no shame in what you’ve done.”

The only thing he can think to do is to take his elegant hands in turn and press a kiss to the center of each palm. “They look clean to me,” he whispers.

“As do you, you understand me? _As do you._ You have a…a glow to you, a shine like a new penny, you have no idea,” and AJ ducks his head against him to hide his pink ears. “I trust you, you know. Absolutely. One of the very, very few people that I do. If you tell me that it’s safe, well, then it _is._ No further questions or explanation necessary.”

Pagan suddenly smiles, cheerful and just a little dirty, and AJ shivers. “In fact, I’d absolutely _love_ it if you’d fuck me. What do you think of that, hmm? That’s what I want,” he says happily. “What do you want? If you’d like it the other way, or something else entirely, I’m sure we can _umph_…”

He throws himself more or less on him, into his arms.

“Haven’t been get you out of my head either…what you would taste like, what you’d feel like. When I asked you to jack off and let me watch, I really wanted to climb on top of you and just…sink down onto you and let you come in me.”

Pagan swallows hard. “Is that what you’d like now?”

The thought of it burns sharp and hot and _good,_ but…

“No, maybe later. I’ve been kind of dense and tormenting you for…fuck, months and months now. I didn’t know that was all I had to say, that I’m here with you because I want to be.” AJ examines his face and runs his thumb over that little scar on Pagan’s chin, looks deeply into his eyes. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers.

Without breaking that eye contact, Pagan reaches for the nightstand drawer and slides a bottle of lube into AJ’s hand, and then takes his face between his own hands and kisses him, slow and sure.

Despite everything, maybe they both shine a little, like something brand new together. AJ’s used to the people in his life, himself included, being pretty jaded about sex. Just goes with the territory. But Pagan’s excitement, his infectious joy spills over into him like sunshine, like blossoming warmth in his chest as his gentle but eager hands run down his sides. No room for pain or anger or fear, or even thinking about where they’re going with this or what tomorrow will bring. Not when Pagan gazes back at him with that light in his eyes.

It takes his breath away, that look.

With a charming little grin, Pagan rolls them over so that he’s on top and AJ grins too. He tugs him forward by his hips as he straddles him, and Pagan leans forward to prop himself on his arms.

“Like this perhaps?”

In answer, AJ arches up so that they rub hotly together and Pagan inhales sharply.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” as he runs his hands up the columns of Pagan’s arms and across his chest and up to his face, rasp of stubble and then the tender softness of his throat, his thumb against his thrumming pulse. Pagan swallows against his fingers and rocks against him all warm and velvety, sparking little jolts of pleasure along his nerves.

“Squeeze a little,” he whispers, gazing into AJ’s eyes.

So AJ shifts his hands around his throat until he can feel his heartbeat under his fingers and gently, easily applies pressure. As a kinky thing it’s fucking dangerous, if somebody gets carried away. One of those things that he absolutely won’t do for his clients, for a whole lot of reasons. But Pagan being on top of him makes it a little safer, more able to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s not going to flip his shit, triggered by some old trauma. Also to keep him from accidentally putting his weight behind it, make it easier to feel if he starts to go limp or pass out or something.

Not even a hard enough squeeze to impede his breathing or leave a mark, just enough to restrict the flow of blood, to give him a little head rush when he lets go. But no tighter than that and not for very long, not even if he were to beg him to. Right away, his pulse picks up and grows thicker, heavier against his fingers in response to that careful constriction.

Pagan’s eyes slide shut like he can’t help it and his head falls back to give him unfettered access, putting himself wholly into his hands without an ounce of hesitation.

“You _like_ that,” AJ whispers, as Pagan rocks against him harder and groans low in his throat, a vibration against his palms. “You doing okay?”

“Mmmhmm,” slow and dreamy, and he shifts to a one-handed grip, thumb digging in on one side of his throat and his fingers on the other so that he can get the lube open.

When Pagan hears the snap of the lid he shivers all over, and when AJ slides his slick hand underneath him and brushes gently against the entrance to his body he arches into it, greedy for it. He shivers himself; the first time he’s gotten to touch him here. Familiar but not, and so warm. Nearly hot against his cooler fingers.

As he delves in a little he finds him soft and relaxed and eager, so much so that he presses two fingers into him instead of just one. Nice and slow and easy. In response, Pagan makes that sound he loves to hear, that low purring rumble against the hand still gripping his neck, his eyes still blissfully closed, his heart thudding, thudding.

AJ crooks his fingers and finds that little spot inside him and strokes, and as he does he releases the compression on his throat all at once. Pagan’s eyes fly open wide as that wash of pleasure collides with the euphoric rush of blood in his head, surprising a moaning, shuddering cry out of him as he trembles all over. Clenches slick and hot around AJ’s fingers and he grips his sweating shoulder with his other hand to help keep him steady.

“Oh fuck,” he pants out, “I had no idea…not that I would ever trust another soul to do it.”

Pagan looks down at him, his eyes wide black pools ringed with brown, and eases himself down until he’s pressed against him full-length. His cock still nudging against his like hot velvet, AJ’s fingers still inside him.

“I need you, need you inside…_god,_ inside me…” as AJ crooks his fingers just right again and he vibrates all over. “Can you feel how ready I am for you?”

“Oh yeah,” as he grins at him and withdraws his hand and this time it’s his turn to roll them over, that other fantasy of pinning Pagan to the mattress in his mind.

“Where’s the condoms?” But Pagan shakes his head.

“No questions, no explanations necessary, remember?”

“Yeah, but just _bare?_ I…”

Pagan works a hand into the back of his hair and wraps his legs around him and tries to pull him in with his heels, butts his face against his and nuzzles at him.

“No doubts either,” he whispers hoarsely. “Just you and I. _Please._”

Caught up in Pagan’s spell, his whispered plea, he reaches for the lube again. But after he’s slicked himself up and is there, _right there,_ wanting it so much and Pagan desperate for him…he hesitates.

His brain won’t stop playing out those other times of selling a fantasy, a lie of enjoyment, with him on autopilot and just wishing it was over already. The only way he’s ever done this, bought and paid for. And he can’t do that to Pagan, it’s not fair to just shove it in and jackhammer at him with his mind far away, that’s not what either of them wants but his mind won’t shut up about how he’s going to ruin this…this time that’s just for them, for himself, a single good and pleasurable and _happy_ thing for himself, at least for tonight…

He freezes in place, shuddering all over and not from pleasure.

“Something’s wrong,” Pagan says so quietly that it’s little more than his breath moving past his ear. “Something changed, just now.” He unwraps his legs from around his waist so that AJ can put distance between them but he clings to him instead, pushing his hot face into the side of Pagan’s throat.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Pagan. You think you can be on top instead?”

“Of course, but we don’t have to do this. We can do something else or nothing at all or…”

AJ twists fluidly until he’s underneath him again and grasps Pagan’s hip with one hand and his own cock with the other and pulls him inexorably down, down.

“_Goddamn,_” Pagan hisses as the head nudges at his entrance and he opens for him, takes him in inch by heated inch like he can’t help himself, working himself down on his length with his head thrown back. A ripplingly tight slide around him as he gulps air at the sheer intensity of it, so different than those other times.

“Easier this way,” AJ mumbles. “I dunno why, I’m sorry.”

“I do. Old ghosts, old memories. Just have to…oh, oh damn…just have to overwrite them. Make new ones. Quit apologizing.”

While he can still think at all, he realizes that Pagan probably knows more about that than he does. Good advice, as he runs his hands up the soft skin of his belly and chest to take his face in his hands and pull him down into a kiss, relishing his tight heat and the taste of his mouth and tries to let his mind sink into nothing but sensation with him, just as he sinks deep into his body.

The way that Pagan loops his arms around his neck and holds him and the slow, soothing sweep of his tongue against his is so different, different enough that his heart slows and steadies from its frightened galloping as Pagan settles flush against him, hot skin pressed to his.

“God, you feel so good inside,” he whispers against his mouth when they break apart for air, and Pagan shudders at it and he feels that too, every shift, every tiny movement without even the thin barrier of latex between them. Sparking hot lightning along his nerve endings as he gasps with the need to _move._ But Pagan’s weight on top of him and his holding him close helps keep him still until he’s ready.

“Just another moment,” Pagan murmurs, with his eyes closed. “You’re a bit more…substantial than I’m used to.”

And that makes AJ laugh, helps him relax and quells that burning urgency a little. _Never hurt you, not with this, never._ But what he says, is: “You trying to tell me I have a big dick or something?”

Pagan grins back. “Maybe I am,” and with that rises up and sinks back down on him and his eyes threaten to roll back in his head, he can’t keep them open against that onslaught of pleasure. Pagan pushes back into him, arching his back to get him in as deep as he can as his big hands slide under his shoulders and grip him tight. AJ ruts up into him helplessly as they find their rhythm together, Pagan’s cock rubbing between their bellies like heated wet silk.

“Just…just there, that’s perfect,” Pagan groans out, “don’t stop, _please…_”

God, to hear him plead like that tugs at him, that same little spark of warmth in his chest.

“No, never, whatever you want, wanna make it good for you,” he murmurs back, not really knowing what he’s saying anymore as he wraps his arms around him to hold him at that perfect angle.

Rocking up to meet him as Pagan works himself back on him, building it together, tight and hot and dizzying, all gasping breaths and pounding hearts and reaching that peak of pleasure too fast, and yet not fast _enough._ Pagan buries his sweating face into his throat with a nip of his teeth that’s just sharp enough to set him to blazing, burning for him, on fire from the inside out.

“Come inside me, I want you to,” Pagan whispers, his breath a hot, damp swirl of shivery pleasure in his ear. “You’re so close. I want to _feel_ it happen,” and as he soothes over that bite with the heat of his mouth. AJ clutches at him hard and surges up under him, drives into him as much as he can with Pagan lying on top of him.

The sound of shocked pleasure that Pagan makes against his skin, followed by that rumbling approval twists warmly in him, makes him want to last forever, to give him everything he’s ever wanted…but it’s too much. His thrusts go juddering and erratic even as he tries to hold it off, even as he arches up into him and buries himself and tumbles helplessly off that cliff, rigid and panting with his blood roaring in his ears, spasm after spasm wrung from him.

Under his hands, Pagan works himself feverishly on him and ruts against his belly with little pants of air against his face and suddenly goes rigid against him with a rough, shuddering moan as his own climax slams through him. His cock throbs hotly where its trapped between them and each of those spasms ripples against him too, from the _inside_ as they come apart together, both of them gripping each other tight.

Like they’ll fly apart if they don’t.

AJ lifts his head just enough to press his mouth to the straining, sweating column of his throat, to feel Pagan’s thundering heart against his tongue, against his chest, against his cock still buried deep in him as they shudder and tremble through the little aftershocks together.

All at once, Pagan relaxes on top of him, limp and heavy but that’s just fine with him as he slides his hands up his sweating back and follows him down into unconsciousness.

Heavily asleep and dreaming, AJ doesn’t move hours later when Pagan wakes and slowly, carefully peels their sticky bodies apart. Doesn’t even stir when he sits up and gently lets him slip free from his body, or later when he stands beside the bed toweling himself off after a shower, staring down thoughtfully into his sleeping face. Or when he dresses mechanically with a furrow between his eyebrows, then comes back and leans down and softly, softly presses his lips to his forehead.

AJ doesn’t so much as twitch when Pagan walks out of the bedroom, leaving him alone. Out into the darkened living room, where he gazes out at the sky, at the seam of gold light just beginning to brighten the horizon. Stares without really seeing it as he paces, and paces, and paces.

***


	11. The King of Los Angeles

***

The exquisitely soft bed under him keeps dragging him down into drowsy sleep, but he half-wakes again and again, troubled by the fact that something’s missing. Some _one,_ as his arms reach out, his hands searching and only finding cool sheets as he slides under again. Like a swimmer cradled in pleasantly deep water.

“Look at me,” Pagan whispers in his dream, but this time his tone is different; a yearning instead of that command. The plea in it tugs at his heart even as it annoys him.

“I would if you were _here,_” he retorts. “Where the fuck are you?”

But that was the wrong thing to say as Pagan withdraws, cold air replacing his warmth. He can never find the right things to say to him.

“I miss you, you prickly bastard,” he says to the empty air. It’s also probably not the right thing to say to get him to come back. But it’s true, and in his dream he can’t keep the yearning out of his voice either. In the waking world, his hand brushes restlessly along the empty space beside him.

The confusion and wrongness of it finally drives him to full wakefulness as he sits up and rubs at his eyes, alone in the middle of Pagan’s big bed. He idly scratches at his stomach as he yawns and takes stock, and quickly realizes that it itches because it’s still liberally crusted with dried-on come. Jesus. Another run through Pagan’s ridiculous shower is definitely in order.

Still no sign of Pagan himself. He had hoped he was just in the bathroom or getting a drink of water or something, as a little knot of anxiety builds in his belly. The place is almost eerily still. A quick glance through the open door and down the hall shows an empty living room too, blazing with morning sunlight. He retreats to the bathroom, eyebrows furrowed.

The vague sadness of his dream still clings to him as he gets the water started. Disappointment too if he’s being honest with himself, as he muzzily tries to work out why that might be as he washes. Maybe he just…had a different picture in his head of how the morning might go. Of rolling over and finding him there beside him, maybe tucking an arm around him, all warm naked skin against his. ‘Beautiful boy,’ he might say, husky with sleep, and kiss him in that soft way he has. Like he _matters._

As he leans there against the tiled wall this mental picture just makes him feel worse.

His chest gives a little lurch of pain when he realizes that he thought that maybe a guy who kisses him like that, who looks at him like that, who put himself into his hands with that kind of trust and unbridled joy…wouldn’t be the kind of guy that would be gone in the morning.

_Idiot, you know better,_ he thinks as he scrubs himself roughly. Get to where you expect shit, and you get disappointed every fucking time. He’ll clean up fast, make sure the door’s locked behind him, and get out of here. No sense in sticking around when he’s obviously not wanted.

He sighs with his face against the cool tile, knows a downward spiral when he feels one coming on and makes a concerted effort to shove that bitterness down.

Once he’s out and toweled off, he brushes his teeth with his finger and wanders around gathering up his rumpled clothes. And then before he can lose his nerve, slips into Pagan’s closet and almost immediately finds what he’s looking for: a stack of clean underwear on a shelf, neatly folded. He grabs the first pair on the stack and shakes them out and holds them up. Boxer-briefs in some silky soft, stretchy material. Bright purple, not that he really cares what color they are, and when he pulls them on they fit like a glove. Rich bitch undies.

Maybe he’ll give them back sometime…and then again, maybe he won’t, as he grins slyly.

Cheered slightly by this petty theft, he throws the rest of his clothes on and pads down the hall with the intention of grabbing a glass of water…only to round the corner and nearly collide with Pagan.

Oh, and it’s awkward, it’s _so_ awkward, as Pagan stands there and just _looks_ at him over his reading glasses, the box of cereal he was examining still in his hand. He slowly backs up a couple of steps.

“Uh…hi. I thought you were gone.” _When I woke up alone._ “I was just gonna get a drink and go home, get out of your hair.”

“You’re leaving already? No breakfast? I had thought that you might like something to eat this morning. I went out and got some things, I didn’t…” That same repressed disappointment in his eyes as he trails off, trying to hide it from him. It all would’ve been so much easier if Pagan’d just stayed put, had been there to hold, to kiss, to whisper good morning to. He wonders if his own eyes have that same disappointed look, as he drops them to study Pagan’s shirt buttons instead.

“Yeah, food sounds good,” he mumbles, not even a bit hungry.

Pagan takes off his glasses and absentmindedly folds and unfolds them a few times before he tosses them on the counter.

“While you were sleeping I walked down to the corner market and told the clerk that I had a young man staying with me and asked what she thought he might like to have for breakfast. And she informed me, ‘you can never go wrong with Cocoa Pebbles.’ And so here we are.” He sets the box down on the counter beside the grocery bags. “Although I admittedly have trouble thinking of such a thing as _food,_ so I bought some other things in case. I realized early this morning that I didn’t have a thing to offer you besides work crisps.”

All of this comes out a little fast, just a little too brightly as Ajay watches him fiddle with the keys in his pocket and processes the fact that fuckin’ crazy Pagan walked somewhere and asked some poor unfortunate soul what to feed him.

“Wait…what are work crisps?”

“Oh, sorry…_chips,_ I meant to say. I still forget, even after all this time. Here,” and Pagan reaches over and pulls one of the kitchen cabinets open and it’s stuffed completely full of bags of chips. The little ones, like you get from a vending machine, all different kinds. Pagan grabs one, almost causing an avalanche, and tosses it to him.

AJ looks down at the package in his hands. Some kind of tortilla chips in a bright red bag. “I don’t…”

“My boy, you are in the presence of the King of Snacks! The crisp…wait, the Chip King of Los Angeles!” He strikes a snooty pose that’s probably supposed to look heroic or something, his nose in the air, but quickly dissolves into laughter.

But it’s not right, that laughter. Too manic, too _tense_ to sound like genuine amusement as AJ stares at him. He flips the bag over in his hands and looks at the back of it, and a small panel printed at the bottom does indeed say ‘The King of Snacks, Snak-King Corporation,’ complete with a little cartoon crown and followed by an LA address.

“I mean, call me stupid, but I…”

For the second time in three minutes, Pagan verbally runs right over him.

“When I first moved here from Kyrat I purchased this company that makes chips and sweets and things. The name amused me. And it’s managed to do very well for itself without all that much input on my end and affords me quite a comfortable existence. So! Have you been thinking about what school you wish to attend?” Pagan looks at him cheerfully, expectantly. _Intensely_. He slowly sets the bag down on the counter, eyes narrowed.

“How do you even know about that?”

“Oh, that fellow Rusty passed it along, told me you were busily saving your pennies for college. A very worthwhile endeavor. UCLA? Or a private school, perhaps? You’re such a smart young man, wherever you wish to go, we’ll make it happen, pull a string or two if needed. Cost is hardly a factor,” as he waves a negligent hand. “You can stay here, plenty of space! The guest room is all yours. We should get you a car though, to get back and forth in…or you can drive the Mercedes, I rarely need it. But perhaps you’d like something of your own that’s just yours…”

AJ’s stomach drops. Not quite through the floor, but far enough with that same prickly, panicky feeling when Pagan suggested this same kind of shit before. Some kind of _arrangement._ He nervously tries to pass it off like no big deal in self-defense, old reactions triggered.

“Whoa whoa, hold up man,” as he laughs a little. “Going way, _way_ too fast here.” He thought Pagan might laugh it off himself, say something like _of course, silly me, got a little carried away, you know how I am,_ but Pagan just gazes at him with a sober stare that he doesn’t care for.

“I was once the ruler of an entire nation, one that I fully intended to give to you. Boy, you were my chosen _heir_. In another, maybe happier world, another life, you would have been the Crown Prince of Kyrat, my…well.” Instead of finishing that sentence he drops that piercing gaze to stare down at the chip bag on the counter instead, absently pushing it around with a finger. “I made the _right_ choice to abdicate, but I always wanted to give you the world. Everything, do you understand me? The least I can do is help you along in this li...”

Now it’s his turn to interrupt. Colder, harsher than he intended…but fuck it.

“So those are my two choices, huh? Either be your…your incestuous pretend son or your boy toy lover, choose one? Because we’re sure as hell not _equals,_ in case you hadn’t noticed.” AJ punctuates this statement with a stabbing finger and a heavy heart and without a clear idea of why he’s this upset, sudden rage making his chest tighten. “And news flash: I don’t need a fucking _father,_ so get that out of your head right now. I didn’t need one growing up, and I sure as shit don’t need one now. And you know what I _also_ don’t need? To belong to some fucking _sugar daddy._”

Pagan recoils like he’s been slapped, his lean face sharp and hard. “Do you really think so very little of me? You know that’s not how it would be. I should hope you’d know me better than that.”

“Do I? I don’t think I really know you at all, Pagan. What the fuck were you expecting to happen here?”

“Expectation…more like hope. I was hoping that maybe you could be my friend. Maybe even my partner, given time,” spoken so quietly to the countertop, the grocery bags. AJ takes in his slumped shoulders, his tousled blond hair. He can’t see his face at all.

But when he raises his head, AJ is surprised to see that his eyes are dry and hard, like flat brown glass, his face expressionless.

“Well, if that’s how you feel about things. Lord knows, it’s a ton of baggage and I understand, I do. You can go your way and…and I’ll go mine, and I’ll wish you a good life, and perhaps you could send me a text every once in awhile just to let me know that you’re all right.” The jovial cheer he tries to inject into this statement falls so flat this time. “Or not, if it pleases you. I won’t hold it against you.”

AJ narrows his eyes. “Just like that, huh? You’d just cut contact, let me go? You wouldn’t…monitor me or anything?”

“If that’s what you want. And no, because that worked out _so_ very well before, did it not?” Suddenly hard and dark and bitter. Pagan turns away and presents him with the long line of his back like he’s done, just done with talking. Tucks his arms around himself like he’s holding himself for comfort, or protectively, or holding himself together.

“Leave me be, Ajay. I can’t…just leave me be,” and him using that name makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck for some reason, when it didn’t before. Like ghosts whispering against his ear.

Pagan stalks past him to the living room and jerks the balcony door open with a roar of changing air pressure and walks out, the ever-present wind at this height ruffling his thin shirt. AJ watches him as he produces cigarettes and a lighter from somewhere out there and tamps the pack on the rail, watches as he puts one in his mouth and lights it with practiced movements, guarding the flame with his big hands. Watches as he takes a long drag off it and exhales the smoke into the wind, takes another pull before he makes a face of disgust and grinds it out on the rail and flicks it off into the blue void. As soon as he does it his arms go right back around himself as he leans against the rail, staring out at the city skyline.

_I always wanted to give you the world. I was hoping you could be my friend, my partner._ Everything Pagan has, he wants to dump in AJ’s lap, like his money and his shit don’t _matter_ to him, like…

…like he loves him.

It suddenly strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Like a man who loves him and has been saying it for a while now, with his hands, with his mouth on his, with everything but words. So much light in his eyes, that _look_ like the world turns around him.

Pagan’s motivation is so clear to him now as his entire viewpoint flips. Just love, not the need to have control over him or something. Pagan’s simple desire to give him something that he wants, when it’s in his power to give it probably ten times over. The trust to invite him in, the same way that he had closed his eyes and tipped his head back and taken him into his body, put himself into his hands with no hesitation, no reservations.

If their positions were reversed, a dizzying thought, and it was himself with nearly unlimited resources and he found out that there was something that Pagan really wanted…wouldn’t he also try to give it to him?

God, he’s been such a fucking _moron__._ He stands there with his stomach roiling and his heart pounding, this time for completely different reasons.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t understand what you were trying to tell me,” AJ whispers to the empty kitchen. And then follows Pagan out into the persistent breeze.

Once he’s out there though, Pagan refuses to even look at him.

“I had assumed that you’d at least care enough about me to respect my wishes and leave me in peace.”

“No, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I said…”

“I know what you said. And what you didn’t,” as he grips his shoulders and tugs him into his arms. Pagan tries to resist for a second, two, and then melts against him like he can’t help himself, even as he keeps his arms locked tightly around his body and makes some indecipherable and angry grunt. AJ grasps his jaw and looks into his eyes, cold and hard and past that to the pain in the depths of them that he can’t quite hide. The pain that _he_ put there. Pagan’s chin quivers under his fingers for a moment before it firms.

“You don’t know this,” AJ murmurs, “but you’re the first person since I’ve started this fucking job that I’ve felt anything for. Three years. Not just clients, _anybody._ I thought maybe I’d managed to kill that part of myself.” He presses his forehead to his and Pagan’s breath shudders out of him. “You’re all I want. Just you. But like you needed to hear me say I was off the clock, I think I needed to hear you say that you wouldn’t be possessive of me. That it wouldn’t be like that. That I really _could_ say no if I needed to.”

AJ leans in and kisses him as softly and gently as he’s done anything in his life.

“But I don’t. I trust you too,” he whispers against Pagan’s lips, tasting tobacco and toothpaste and _him,_ and this time it’s his eyes that fill, blurring Pagan’s face. The gusts whip the tears from the corners of his eyes and Pagan turns them so that his own body blocks the persistent wind. His thumbs tenderly brush that moisture away as AJ closes his eyes.

“Shhh, shhh…” is all Pagan says, maybe not quite ready to talk yet but willing to hold him at least, his arms warm and strong as AJ pushes his face into him.

“Are you sure you still want me around? I keep hurting you,” he mumbles into the soft fabric covering his shoulder. He still doesn’t say anything, but his arms tighten around him as protectively as he held himself, including him in that circle too.

“Yes,” Pagan whispers harshly, just that, and he takes it to mean yes to both. He wishes he could see his face but he’s holding onto him so tightly. And as if sensing his thought: “Do you need me to let you go?”

“No, don’t, _don’t_…” AJ grips fistfuls of his shirt and just hangs onto him. The two of them stand there for a time, holding each other like they’re both going to break if they don’t.

“Shhh," Pagan says again as he rubs his back, "it’s all right darling boy, it’ll be all right…but please, do try to be careful and not run roughshod over it.”

“Over what?” He sniffs and rubs his wet eyes against Pagan’s shirt.

“My heart,” Pagan says quietly, simply. “I went and put it in your hands. Rather accidentally, I might add. I hope it’s not too terrible a burden.”

AJ leans back just enough so that he can see his face. Not closed off to him at all now; instead full of a wounded, wary hope. He gazes into that face, somehow both elegant and rough at the same time, marked by stress and laugh lines and simple time and wonders when it became so important to him, so beautiful. He traces the little scar on his chin with his thumb.

“I know, Pagan, I know. Me too,” he whispers. “Me too.”

They stand together on a balcony above a city that stretches nearly as far as the eye can see, and in that moment it feels as if they’re the only two people in the entire world.

***


	12. The Weight of Gold

***

They stay out there for a long time, just holding, clutching each other tightly.

But after awhile they both begin to relax enough to let go a little. Not to separate, but just enough for AJ to brush his nose against his ear and kiss the soft skin under it, for Pagan to stroke his fingers through the back of his hair. Reassurance without words, close and comforting. The sun after a storm.

Their peaceful interlude is eventually broken by Pagan’s stomach growling fitfully, and AJ smiles against his collarbone and reaches down to rub his belly through the soft material of his shirt.

“Let’s go get something to eat. You went and bought all that food, the least we can do is eat it,” and Pagan lets him take him by the hand and tug him back inside. He still has a thoughtful kind of expression, not really looking at him much. Being pretty quiet, especially for him. But he also doesn’t particularly want to let go of his hand once they get into the kitchen, which is kind of sweet.

So he just…doesn’t. Why pull away, if neither of them really want to? It’s a little slower digging around in the stuff that Pagan bought with only the use of one hand, but it’s not like he’s in a big hurry or anything.

The bags turn out to contain way too much breakfast shit for two people: five different kinds of bagels and cream cheese, a load of eggs and bacon and sausage and fruit, and a small package of what looks exactly like raw fish. He sniffs at it suspiciously.

“Lox, dear,” Pagan murmurs at his shoulder, eliciting a tiny wave of goosebumps as his breath brushes his ear. “Smoked salmon. For the bagels.”

“All yours, man. I think I’ll stick with the cereal,” he says with a laugh.

While they eat, he runs a hand up under Pagan’s shirt and leaves it there, so he can brush his fingers along the small of his back from time to time. An admittedly tense meal, but in all the good ways as Pagan glances over at him with a warm, dark promise in his eyes.

A simmering heat that he wants to see come to the boil.

But he’s seriously hungry too, now that things are easier between them. He decides to politely accept an offered nibble of Pagan’s weird fish bagel, which is…better than he expected it to be, smoky and rich. In turn, he presents a spoonful of chocolatey cereal and milk and smiles at the surprised and approving hum that Pagan makes.

No need for words between them, not now, not when Pagan gazes at him like that while he stacks their dishes in the sink. Not when it’s Pagan’s turn to take his hand and lead him, this time back to the bedroom.

“I propose a do-over,” Pagan murmurs in his ear. “Let’s pretend we never got out of bed, shall we?” and it’s his turn to groan his approval, his hand wadded in Pagan’s shirt at the shoulder.

“It’s like you read my fucking mind,” and this time he’s the one not wanting to let go, although it’s definitely not like Pagan’s trying to pull away from him or anything. On the contrary he keeps pressing to get closer, closer, backing him up until his ass hits the edge of the bed and he lets himself fall back, dragging Pagan with him, on top of him.

Everywhere Pagan’s hands roam seems to burn. To draw heat up from under his skin as he writhes in his grasp and yanks fabric out of the way. A hot and urgent fire of helpless want, _inside, now_…but Pagan won’t give it to him.

“Just…oh fuck, _please,_” he begs, bathed in sweat and with no dignity left, shoving back against Pagan’s efforts at prepping him with careful hands. “Need you, need…” Out of words, he grabs at Pagan’s hip and tugs at him to try to get them lined up and shudders all over as he imagines what he’ll feel like, thick and heavy and velvety-hot inside him.

“Will you stop trying to fucking _rush_ me? You can bloody well be patient for once in your life,” Pagan growls, and his indignant, irritated, _bossy_ tone is so purely Pagan that it makes him laugh helplessly into his shoulder. That laughter helps to ease some of that burning need, a little anyway, helps him relax against him and let him go as slow as he likes.

That same trust, to let him take the lead and to put himself wholly into his large, gentle hands.

“Sorry,” he whispers against his skin. Pagan gathers him up close and holds him with one arm as his slippery fingers circle, circle and never quite delve in, and he forces himself to calm down and not try to chase them.

“Shhh. I just want to take my time with you. Later I can be as fast as you like, or even a little rough, whatever you want. But please…let me have this. Just the first time.” He chooses that moment to slide a long finger inside him and he gasps and tries not to rock into it greedily. “I only wish to please you,” Pagan murmurs against his ear, low and silky and darkly warm.

The first person he’s been with to really give a shit about that.

“Yeah, okay, no…no arguments here,” as he clutches at his shoulders, and then grins. “You’re a good guy, you know that? Kinda sweet.”

“Pffft. Whatever you say, my dear.”

But a little later, after he eases his way into him and they both hold still and tremble all over at how good it feels, Pagan nuzzles his nose against his. Whispers like it’s a secret, like someone might be listening.

“Only good to you, lovely boy. You’re the only thing that matters.”

After that, talking falls pretty low on the priority list, especially since he feels every bit as good inside him as he thought he might. He falls asleep pretty much immediately afterwards and then wakes hours later with Pagan’s not inconsiderable weight half on him, breath tickling his ear and one of his bony knees digging into the side of his leg.

AJ smiles to himself in the dim light. Perfect.

Except for one epic and memorable session in that giant bathtub, the bed becomes more or less where they stay, making love and learning each other’s bodies. He’s never really _made love_ before. He always thought that was a dumb way to say it, the stuff of bad romance movies. But it fits Pagan’s intensity, his tender enthusiasm. The bright-eyed joy that he shares with him. And who would have thought that a guy like Pagan could be like that? Or that it would be something that he’d even want, gazing into his eyes while they’re inside each other, that fluttering warmth in his chest near to overflowing.

They often fall asleep curled around each other and he loves listening to Pagan’s breathing change as he slides under, the way his heart slows under his cheek. The way they often share the same pillow, their foreheads touching.

Pagan doesn’t even bother to get out of bed to take his business calls, the sheet wrapped around his waist and half-asleep with AJ’s head resting somewhere on him as he languidly argues about production runs and overhead. Sometimes he puts it on speaker with the phone on his bare chest, not bothering to open his eyes or even attempting to disguise how fucked-out he sounds as AJ tries not to snicker.

At some point, he takes care of a little business of his own, by sending his boss Rusty a text: _I quit, lick my asshole u fucking scavenger._ Still pretty incensed that he sold him out for a measly five hundred bucks. Not entirely sure what he wants to do, if he wants to keep working or not, but either way he’s done with that lying shitbag. All he gets back in return is the middle finger emoji, so he guesses that concludes his exit interview.

This time that he’s been spending with Pagan doesn’t quite feel like…reality. It’s really good, even fucking wonderful at times, but so goddamn _weird_. It’s hard to work out whether it’s because Pagan is inherently strange (absolutely true) or it’s because of the money thing, or what.

Or the one feeds the other, like Pagan’s bizarre cooking.

Pagan had wanted to make dinner for him, which he thought was a fine idea and kind of romantic and readily agreed to it. Until he found out what they were having, the ingredients for which Pagan had delivered the next afternoon. He didn’t think much of it until Pagan walked back in from the hallway with a big styrofoam cooler. Or staggered in with rather, because it turned out to contain a clear plastic bag full of water and a live fucking _fish,_ one nearly as long as his arm.

“There’s a few more bags out in the hall, would you be a dear and go fetch them for me?”

With a grunt of effort, Pagan lifted the bag out of the cooler and hoisted it into the sink, which the fish didn’t seem to approve of, if the thumping and slapping noises were anything to go by.

“Uhhh…yeah, sure,” he’d mumbled. His eyes probably looked just like that fucking fish, the one that Pagan was apparently ready to murder right in the kitchen, all wide and googly. What in the actual _fuck,_ he had thought.

And sure enough, when he got back with the other bags there was Pagan with his shirtsleeves rolled up and an apron on, honing a giant cleaver the way that chefs on tv do and humming cheerfully to himself.

At least the actual blood and guts part didn’t take long. Once Pagan wrestled the thing out of the sink and wrangled it onto the cutting board, an operation that he sure as shit wasn’t about to assist with even though it nearly got away at one point, it was soon over. Five minutes later it was marinating in a big dish with ginger and scallions all over it.

It had admittedly smelled amazing after Pagan took it out of the oven, but when they sat down to eat it he realized that Pagan had left the head and the tail on it and everything and it was like it was fucking _looking_ at him. He imagined there was accusation in that eye. _Why didn’t you stop that knife-wielding blond psycho?_ that dull gaze said. And as far as silverware went, there wasn’t any. Only chopsticks, which he was no good with.

Hell, he’d never even eaten fish that didn’t come in stick form.

Pagan had apologized and obligingly gotten up and gotten him a fork and didn’t tease him a bit for needing one. Also didn’t tease him for closing his eyes to avoid that accusatory gaze every time he took a bite. But seriously, who the fuck does shit like that? Rich weirdos like Pagan, apparently.

And _then_ there was the maid thing, the thing that had ended up really bothering him.

A sound in the foyer had woken him from a vague half-sleep, some noise that definitely didn’t belong. It had sounded kind of like the door had opened. His face had been cradled against Pagan’s shoulder, but sound had him sitting up in a hurry.

“Pagan,” he hissed, grabbing his arm, “something’s wr…”

Pagan’s eyes snapped open. He lunged for the headboard, where he jammed a hand between it and the mattress and yanked out that big handgun; he hadn’t even known it was there. But just as soon as it was in his hand he let out a breath and shoved it back.

“Goddamn, you startled me. It’s only the ser…the housekeeper,” all gravelly with sleep. He flopped back down and covered his face with one arm as if he had every intention of getting back to it. “She comes on Fridays.”

AJ sat there and blinked. Super glad that Pagan wasn’t going to be firing that thing, but there was no way it was Friday already. Keeping track of the time was getting harder and harder, whole days lost in a warm haze. And then another thought had jolted him.

“Wait, she’s not…she’s not coming in _here,_ is she?”

“Well, yes,” Pagan said, muffled by his arm. His tone indicated that he was of the opinion that AJ might be being the slightest bit dense. “To scrub the bathroom, that sort of thing. She’ll just work around us.” He rolled over and tried to slide an arm around him and snuggle in, but he had pulled away.

Pagan had sighed. “_Fine,_ if it bothers you that badly…”

With a luxurious stretch and a yawn, he got up and snagged a pair of pajama pants off the floor, located an undershirt and pulled it on. As soon as he walked out AJ grabbed for his own clothes. He could hear Pagan in the kitchen filling the teakettle and talking way too loudly.

“Good morning, Dhanvi! Oh…well, I suppose it’s the afternoon by now. But would you care for a cup? I have some of that good Darjeeling still.” A quiet female voice responded, too low for him to make out, along with the clunk of teacups being set out on the counter. “But…if you don’t mind, my dear, please skip the bedroom for a bit,” and AJ froze in the middle of pulling his jeans on. “I have a, hmm, _guest_ staying over, and he’s a bit shy, you see.” Loud and cheerful as all hell.

Thoughts of strangling him had made their way to the front of his mind. That poor woman. Talk about a fucking walk of shame. Funny that he hadn’t really felt that much shame back when he was working. Just a job.

When he finally walked into the kitchen, he wondered if the shock had shown on his face. He wasn’t expecting her to be Kyrati, and he certainly wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking _familiar._ Like she could have been his relative, an auntie or a cousin or something. His eyes narrowed as he watched her dust the already pristine living room while Pagan leaned easily against the counter with his teacup, the picture of relaxation.

His mom had worked as a maid when he was younger, slaving away for families who were way better off in order to keep food on their table. Worked her ass off at every job she had until she was too sick to do it anymore.

Worked so hard, for so little.

Wonder what Mr. Rich Bitch standing there sipping his fucking tea would’ve thought of _that._ If he had any idea just how lean some of those years were, and a sudden surge of bitterness had threatened to choke him.

After Dhanvi had left, he had suspected that Pagan could tell he was upset, but not the why. He made them sandwiches and AJ dutifully ate his. He had let Pagan coax him back to bed, let him hold him.

But when he wakes in the morning that sense of unreality is so strong, so stifling, that it half-smothers him.

“I just…I need a little time,” he whispers.

He says it softly to Pagan’s bare back as they’re lying in bed, with his heart in his throat and an ache in his chest. He’s not asleep…or at least, not much. He can hear it in his breathing.

In a lot of ways, it might be easier if he was. He scoots closer to press his forehead against the back of his neck and Pagan stiffens up against him, muscles tight, and that hurts too. But he doesn’t pull away. Never relaxes, but at least he doesn’t pull away from him.

Eventually, Pagan nods, a slight movement he feels against his own head. But he doesn’t say a word.

Not as he gets his stuff together and gets dressed, not as he slips his shoes on and slides out quietly, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. It’s not until he’s down on the street and walking away with his hands shoved in his pockets that he wishes he’d put a hand on his shoulder and tugged him onto his back so he could kiss him before he left. Had tucked his face into his throat and breathed him in.

But out here, this is _real,_ not Pagan’s posh little fucknest. Car exhaust and street noise and some guy cutting him off in a crosswalk and then honking at him, an exchange of middle fingers. He stops and buys some tamales from some chattering ladies with a cart and enjoys them thoroughly as he’s walking.

Eventually he makes it back to his place after wandering for hours, footsore and hot and wanting a cold glass of water. Maybe a nap in his own bed. Maybe some clarity about this whole situation. He passes by the park, the one where Pagan came to pick him up and ended up sitting on the swings with him at least a decade ago. That’s what it feels like, anyway. He looks the place over and can’t even describe how it makes him feel.

Back in his ratty little apartment he toes off his also ratty sneakers and gets the jug of cold water out of the fridge and sits at the tiny table until he cools down. It feels better here. Simple, homey. Not one ounce of pretension, as he props his bare feet up on the stained and battered wood just for the hell of it. The exact opposite of Pagan’s sleekly modern penthouse, which reminds him of something from a glossy magazine, not a place where someone actually lives. Or maybe it feels more like a zoo exhibit, one that gives few clues about the enigmatic animal that inhabits it.

But later, when he lies down, is when it starts to feel all wrong again. The mattress too hard, the room too hot and bright. He’s already gotten used to the dim bedroom and the dry chill air that Pagan seems to savor, of burrowing through the covers to snuggle up into the warm pocket he makes in the bed.

When he finally falls into a fitful sleep that’s what he dreams about, trying to find him. Digging through endless blankets and searching and searching.

True to his word, Pagan makes no attempt to contact him. No calls, no texts. Presumably not having him followed. Or doing it himself, as he catches himself _looking_ every time he leaves his place, half expecting to walk around a corner and find him there. Leaning against that Mercedes with a cool stare for him, just shy of arrogant with his shirt unbuttoned low. Or it might be the other way, he might be standing there smoldering in his linen suit and trying not to let it show with that look on his face, wanting him so much, with his dark eyes sparkling…

As the days pass and it doesn’t happen, he finds himself sort of wishing it would.

That is, until he gets the notification from his bank that another five thousand’s been posted to his account.

No accompanying text either, no explanation. Just Pagan’s cash dumped on him and the resulting hot anger beating in his head. _What, four days and you’re trying to buy me back already?_ he thinks savagely, old instincts triggered, old resentments pricked at. If life demands that he has to put himself up for sale, then by god it’ll be on his fucking terms, in his fucking control. Not in that conceited prick’s well-manicured hands or anybody else's, the rich poncy fuck. Money doesn’t buy everything, doesn’t buy _him,_ no matter how Pagan fucking looks at him.

Except, it kind of does, has from the beginning, as he rubs his face and takes yet another long, long walk. It isn’t until he calms down that he can even remember telling him _I trust you too,_ the way that Pagan brushed his tears away, the hot joy of taking and being taken and holding each other as closely as they could. The way they held each other on that balcony like they were going to break.

AJ’s beginning to wonder why he’s so hellbent on torturing them, on torturing himself, mad as hell and missing that shithead so much it makes his stomach hurt.

_You’re all I want. Just you._ He’d told Pagan that. Was it a lie? Lying to himself? He doesn’t even know anymore, wishing Pagan would be the one to contact him, would come after him, would break his word.

However, the only messages he gets are the ones from his former clients, a few of which apparently haven’t yet been contacted by his agency about his departure from the adult entertainment business. Finding himself adrift in pretty much every possible way except being homeless, he’s tempted to take them up on their offers. And finding himself having to sleep in the park isn’t outside the realm of possibility, if he doesn’t get his shit sorted out. He’s not fucking touching that money. His jaw knots up every time he even thinks of it.

But something stops him from taking up work as a free agent with those old regulars, tempting as the easy cash is. Keeps picking his phone up to reply, keeps setting it down again with a sigh.

On the fifth day, having had enough of uncertainties and his own pathetic bullshit, he makes the decision to investigate further. He does a little research and figures out what bank the deposit came from and takes the bus across town, over to what has to be the fanciest bank in LA. He rolls his eyes as he jogs up the marble steps and pushes through the revolving door to the shining lobby.

A lot of brass and crystal chandeliers and tinkly soft music as his disreputable sneakers sink into the plush carpet.

“May I help you,” a teller at the counter asks, and to her credit her tone is only a little chilly.

“Um, one of your customers made a deposit to my account and I was wondering why and if I could…stop it from happening again. Like, block it or something.” He winces internally, suddenly realizing how stupid that sounds. The woman’s eyebrows furrow a little.

“And you are…”

He thinks it over for just a moment, what name Pagan would have used.

“Ajay Ghale.”

“Well Mr. Ghale, I’m afraid there’s very little I can divulge about our clients to…hm, unauthorized persons, but what is the name of the account holder?”

He thinks that over too.

“Pagan Min, or maybe Min Gang.” Or maybe some other name altogether, some false identity, it wouldn’t really surprise him.

The woman’s face suddenly loses that haughty, nose in the air veneer.

“Oh, my apologies sir, I really didn’t put the…your name with this account. Please, come with me to my office, I have some paperwork for you,” and she beckons him deeper into the lobby. Which is confusing as all fuck, but since it doesn’t sound like they’re going to call the cops or anything he follows her, curious despite himself. It’s quickly obvious even to his ignorant ass that this woman is some Person of Importance, far more than just a teller as she leads the way to her posh, private office.

“Here, please, have a seat,” and he finds himself sinking deeply into the plush leather chair she offers him. “Mr. Min authorized you to be added to the account in question earlier this week, so if I could just see your identification, please.”

AJ can feel his mouth fall open stupidly, like a fucking cartoon. He snaps it shut in annoyance.

“No, that’s…no, that’s some kind of mistake, or something. He didn’t mean…” He trails off, apparently also losing his grasp on the English language.

“I assure you, Mr. Ghale, his intentions were quite clear. He specified that he wishes to make this a joint account and for you to have full access. As soon as you sign this paper and allow me to verify your identity,” she pushes it towards him, along with a shiny black and gold pen, “we can discuss anything you like regarding it.”

Mind numb and mostly on autopilot, he reaches into his back pocket and extracts his wallet and hands over his driver’s license, picks up the pen. Even the ends of his fingers are a little numb, as he looks over the document. The place he needs to sign is marked with yellow highlighter, right beside what he presumes is Pagan’s scrawled signature since it’s on the line that says ‘Primary Account Holder.’ The one for him is labeled ‘Secondary Account Holder.’

Holy _fuck._ He hesitates with the feeling of everything moving way too fast, with old instincts prickling at his nerves as he tries to find the trap in it. Surely it’s a trap, a trick, some way to…

He swallows hard and scribbles his signature beside Pagan’s before he can go and talk himself out of it like an idiot.

“Thank you, Mr. Ghale. Now, what can I help you with today?”

Damn, even his lips feel a little numb.

“I…he didn’t tell me about any of this,” he mumbles. “Not any of it…he deposited five thousand in my own bank account and I don’t really know _why._ Is there anything you can tell me about that?”

“Of course, give me just a moment,” as she turns to the computer on her desk and taps keys for a minute, and then spins the monitor around so he can see it. “Right here…this is the automated transfer request,” and points to a line with a perfectly manicured finger. “Five thousand dollars from this account to the one listed, to go out at the beginning of every month. It’s set to continue in perpetuity, even in the event of his death or the…”

AJ loses the rest of what she says in the sudden roar of blood in his ears, those words washing over him like a rush of icy water. _Even in the event of his death._

As soon as she says it, he realizes that he has two choices, two paths in front of him. Leave things set up exactly as they are and go his way, live his life and do whatever he pleases. Pagan’s left him an out a mile wide, if he wants to take it. Set all this shit up and didn’t say a word and let him discover it for himself.

He also realizes that Pagan will never contact him again. Will never be the one to reach out, will never be waiting around that corner. _You can go your way and I’ll go mine,_ the man said it himself. But that’s also not quite true. Pagan wouldn’t go anywhere. He’d wait and wait for him, arms around himself and staring out the windows, his life in a holding pattern. A life unlived. Maybe he’s been waiting so many years in his self-imposed exile that he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Waiting on everyone he’s ever lost to find their way back again.

And here he is, making him wait again, hurting him while he wavers and fucks around like a stupid kid, piss-scared and unable to accept that someone in this fucking shittyass world loves him and _wants_ him, wants to make a place for him. Wasting their precious time.

The world is fucking hard and he needs to take every advantage that it offers him, every opportunity it affords. And he has the opportunity to have a life with this man. A chance at happiness for them both. It took some stranger saying those words out loud to drive the point home to him, how he _really_ feels under the snarl of his self-protective fear.

_Even in the event of his death._ All the blood drains out of his face. He can feel that too.

“Mr. Ghale, are you all right,” the bank lady says with concern. He hears her as faintly as if she’s at the other end of a long hallway. He pulls himself more upright in the chair.

“Yeah, sorry…I forgot to eat lunch,” he lies. “Blood sugar must be a little low.” He tries to twist his face into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Her expression is still dubious, but she pulls a drawer open and extracts a crystal candy dish from the depths of it and sets it in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and takes one and unwraps it and pops it into his mouth.

Hell, this nice lady would help him _drain_ Pagan’s account into his, if he asked her to.

Because Pagan set it up that way, so that he’d have the exact same access. Equals.

That memory burns, of them in the kitchen and him suddenly so pissed and stabbing a finger in Pagan’s face. _We’re sure as hell not equals…_

Pagan trying so hard for him, his prickly, skittish, _stupid_ lover.

“Yeah, okay,” he tells the woman, who quirks her eyebrows at him in a weirdly Pagan-ish expression. “I know what I want to do.”

***


	13. All the Tomorrows

***

Four hours later he’s back at Pagan’s place with a big dufflebag packed with most of his worldly possessions, his finger poised to ring the doorbell…and hesitates. Not entirely certain of his welcome. Mostly, but not entirely. He extends his finger and runs it lightly over the brass button, retracts it again.

Oh, fuck this shit.

Like at the bank he just…does it before he can talk himself out of it again, slams it with the side of his fist and stands there and waits, only shaking a little.

And waits. And waits. He pushes the button again and listens carefully and he can hear it ring inside his apartment.

And Pagan still doesn’t come.

Surely he’d at least…open the door? Even if he’s pissed at him? He checked the garage before he came up, just to make sure his car was there, and standing in the hallway gives him plenty of time to start considering all kinds of anxious scenarios. Like what if he’s gone and done something truly moronic, like gotten real done up on one of those little baggies that he found in the very back of the nightstand once when he was hunting for a tissue. Given himself a heart attack or something. He certainly can’t judge anybody for that kind of stuff, but maybe he should’ve dumped that shit in the toilet when he had the chance. Or something like that one night where Pagan drank himself stupid and passed out on his back, an even more anxious thought because it’s not like it hasn’t already happened before.

Which is dumb, he knows it’s dumb, Pagan’s a grown-ass man that’s been taking care of himself way before he came along, for fuck’s sake, but as he stands there and stands there that worry keeps eating at his insides. Completely, completely fucked this up as he spreads his fingers out on the door. Call the cops and have them check up on him?

Yeah right, like they’d pay any attention to somebody like him. Likely to arrest him for the audacity of even being in a place like this.

In near panicked desperation, he pulls out his shiny new bank card and jams it between the door frame and the lock to try to pop the latch, which of course doesn’t work. He knew that it wouldn’t, not in a fancy place like this, but he had to try. He crouches down and feels with his fingers for a gap at the bottom of the door that he might be able to see through, see him, anything, wildly considers ramming his shoulder into it…

The door swings open and more or less dumps him at Pagan’s socked feet.

AJ rockets to his own, his face flaming.

“Uhh,” is all that comes out of his mouth. Pagan looks…not great. Not like he’s all fucked up, thankfully, but rumpled like maybe he hasn’t been sleeping a lot, and the sleep that he has gotten has been in his clothes. Red-eyed but gazing at him steadily.

Not much expression there for him to read. He drops his own eyes to the card still in his hand, and his stomach drops with them. Not exactly the welcome he was hoping for.

“Um, is…is the guest room still on the table? I brought my…yeah, it’s…okay if it isn’t. But I stopped by the bank and I had that lady delete your transfer thing and I moved everything from my account into yours…I mean, ours, I guess, and…and they gave me my own card and stuff, which is super fuckin’ weird, I just hope I don’t screw something up or somethi…”

Pagan’s hand shoots out and drags the strap of the duffel off his shoulder and into the entryway. With the other, he seizes him by the front of his jacket and yanks him over the threshold and into his arms.

Even though Pagan squeezes him _hard,_ he still feels as if he’s able to take the deepest breath he’s gotten all week. He savors the feel of him under his hands as he spreads them across his back, all warm and solid, his familiar smell in his nose when he crams his face into his shoulder.

“Love you boy, love you,” Pagan whispers hoarsely, urgently, like maybe he was afraid he’d missed his chance to say it or something. And just like that, the sinking sensation reverses itself in a flutter all through him.

But before he can really _process_ it or even begin to think to say it back, before he can make his mouth form those completely unfamiliar words, Pagan pulls away from him.

“What’s this?” Pagan rubs a hand over his side, where Mom’s urn dug into his ribs. He had stowed it safely under his hoodie for the ride over. He unzips it down far enough so that he can see what it is and Pagan reaches out and takes it with such care. For long moments he just looks down at it, caressing her name with his thumb.

“Pagan, I…” When Pagan’s eyes meet his, raw and red-rimmed and glittering, he can’t help but think he’s fucked this up too. He should’ve stowed the urn in his bag for later, for when things between them were a little more stable.

But that solid weight against his body was a comfort.

“There’s something that I should show you,” Pagan says heavily, and leads the way back to his own bedroom, not the guest one. And then, inexplicably, into the big walk-in closet. When he flips the light on he realizes that there’s another, smaller door at the very back, and that’s where Pagan leads him. When he swings that door open, he gasps.

Inside is what can only be described as a shrine. A Kyrati shrine, if he had to guess. Expensive-looking tapestries line the walls and candles and incense stand ready in their holders. Pagan picks up a box of matches on a table by the door and strikes one, holding the flame to the wick of a single candle. The wavering light illuminates a tray with another, smaller urn, and a portrait of a tiny girl, her dark hair in pigtails.

This little space and what it contains is Pagan’s _real_ home, the heart of it. He sees that now. Pagan’s heart, a place full of both warm light and shifting shadows. Opened to him all the way to the dark corners. That’s what this place represents.

“I couldn’t leave her there, when I left Kyrat,” Pagan murmurs at his shoulder, his voice a little thick. “Couldn’t leave our little girl behind.”

AJ swallows against the burn that rises in his own throat at his words.

“I think…I think that Mom would want to be here, with her. With you,” and Pagan nods slowly and holds the urn out to him.

“They ought to be together. Lakshmana shouldn’t be alone anymore.”

AJ takes what remains of his mother back from him and carefully sets her down next to his sister and stands there numb all over and no idea about how he feels. Besides…lighter, maybe that.

Maybe like he might finally be home for good. Pagan touches the small of his back, a tentative brush of his fingers.

“I admit that I don’t often come in here, it’s…” He clears his throat and tries again. “But that doesn’t mean that this place isn’t open to you, whenever you want to visit.”

The long look that Pagan gives him, the hesitant way he touches him now he interprets as _I want to know if this means you plan on staying. I want to ask but I don’t want the act of asking to be what makes you shy away from me._

In answer to that unasked question, he turns and slides his arms around him.

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere, just…” He sighs against Pagan’s cheek. “Okay, this is gonna sound stupid.”

“Tell me, darling,” Pagan murmurs into his shoulder.

“Do you think we can go watch tv? Maybe order a pizza or something. Do…home stuff, you know?”

Pagan snorts laughter. “Home stuff.”

“I said it was gonna sound stupid.”

“No, not at all,” he says softly. “I think it sounds wonderful.”

The first purchase that he makes with his brand-new bank card is their dinner. Pagan had waved a hand around carelessly when he asked him what he wanted, so he figures that gives him free rein. He was originally thinking pizza but there’s a lot of options, as he peruses the stack of delivery menus that he found stuffed into the junk drawer that every kitchen seems to have. The unfamiliar ones he sets aside, not entirely sure what a pierogi or tom kha is. They could get Chinese though. Pagan’s Chinese, right? Kind of? He realizes that they never really talked about it, except in passing that night in the park.

There’s lot of stuff they’ve never talked about. He’s gotta do better, be more cultured and shit. Learn how to use chopsticks, as he puts in an order with his phone.

When it arrives and Pagan sees what it is, he crows “Crab Rangoon!” like a lunatic and bursts into laughter. Laughs so hard he wheezes and slaps the back of the couch. Goddamn, he’s so fucking _weird,_ he thinks, dumping the rest of the containers out onto the coffee table. But it’s so good to hear him laugh like that, warm and rich, that laughter that he’s always loved. 

Unfortunately it doesn’t last very long before he gets quiet on him again, a furrow between his eyebrows.

Their food showed up just in time for the start of Die Hard, which he’s seen at least thirty times, but it’s not like it even matters what’s on. Just background noise. What matters is the fact that they’re here together. Even if it is kind of tense, with Pagan sitting there beside him and not really relaxing as he obligingly grazes on a few rangoon and leaves the rest for him. The stiffness in him, that hesitation hurts a little.

In an effort to distract him he picks up a pair of chopsticks, noting that the wrapper thankfully has instructions printed on it, little pictures that show you how to hold them.

“Like this, right?”

“Imagine it, a boy growing up in Los Angeles and never learning a thing about _faai zi,_” Pagan says, but his tone is fond, only teasing him the tiniest bit. He scoots closer and reaches out to carefully adjust his fingers. “There, just like that, you’re…oh no, don’t _stab_ at it, dear boy, it’s terribly rude,” as he tries to corner the recalcitrant dumplings in their plastic container. The fuckers keep sliding away from him. “I appreciate the effort, but I can get you a fork…”

“Nope,” with his eyes narrowed in concentration. “I’ll get the hang of it.” That earns him one of those warm little smiles. The dumplings might be hard mode, but getting the _lo mein_ into his mouth in a decently civilized fashion turns out to be way easier.

“Listen, I realize I’ve upset you a great deal,” Pagan finally says after AJ’s finished, his fingers restlessly stroking across the paper napkin laid over his knee. “With having a maid, and the business with the…the fish, and perhaps in sending you that money and who _knows_ how many other things I’ve fucked up. I must admit, I’m in over my head.” He rubs the back of his own head with just a touch of frustration, like he can’t quite find the right words. “If you wish for me to let Dhanvi go I will, but I trust her nearly as much as I do you. I’ve known her and her husband for nearly thirty years now, they have a good life here…”

“Come here and lie down with me,” he murmurs into the darkened living room, the tv providing the only light. He’s never been the one to say it before. “Let me hold you,” and after a moment of deliberation Pagan stretches out on the couch so that AJ can get behind him.

When he takes him in his arms, Pagan finally relaxes against him with a tiny sigh of what sounds like relief. He rubs his back through his shirt with slow strokes, works a thumb into the tense knot at the base of his neck just how he likes. His reward is that rumbling sound that vibrates through his own chest where Pagan’s head rests against it, a rough and rusty purr that soothes him too.

“I’m sorry,” he says against his hair, and Pagan goes quiet again. “I don’t…I don’t want to run from you anymore. I just…” He sighs. “You’re not the only one in way over their fuckin’ head here.”

“Don’t be sorry, dear boy. Don’t be. You’re here now, aren’t you?” a murmur into the front of his shirt. And then, “Welcome to the party, pal,” in a not-bad imitation of John McClane that makes him snort laughter. When Pagan doesn’t say anything else for long minutes, he shifts a little and looks down only to find him fast asleep with his head nestled against his chest, face smooth and peaceful in the flickering light from the tv.

AJ cradles him close and wonders how in the hell he could have ever considered possibly giving this up, giving up on him, on _them._ So much still up in the air, whatever it is that he wants to do with his life, but it doesn’t matter. It can all wait until at least tomorrow, as he shuts his eyes, savoring Pagan’s heavy warmth against him. The way that they fit together just right, like his arm was made to curve exactly around Pagan’s side, his head pillowed on his shoulder like it was meant to rest there. He finally ends up drifting off himself, not exactly having been sleeping all that well either. The sounds of tv gunshots and explosions don’t bother him at all, not with the familiar smell of Pagan’s hair in his nose.

AJ startles awake when a hand squeezes his shoulder, a big dark shadow looming over him and no clue where he is for a moment.

“Easy,” Pagan whispers, touching his face. Pagan’s darkened living room, quiet now with the tv off.

“Oh god, what time’s it? I gotta get home,” he mutters groggily…and then the realization hits him and he relaxes against the cushions, warm all over. “No…I’m already here.”

“That you are,” Pagan says, a little muzzy-sounding himself. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?” But at the end of the hall, he pauses. Turns and gazes back at him with that same long look, and he understands his unspoken question. Not wanting to ask outright and have the answer be no.

AJ touches his arm and slides his hand down to tangle their fingers together, squeezes a little.

“I still just want to be wherever you are.”

Pagan huffs a laugh and squeezes back. “Well, that’s good! Because I feel much the same and both of us crammed into the guest bed seems a bit silly.” His voice is easy, almost flippant, but AJ can hear the relief underneath of it, feel it in the way his hand shifts in his.

When he comes out of the bathroom Pagan’s already gotten undressed and climbed in bed, the long line of his bare back to him. And the way that he lies there with his arms around himself and maybe half asleep again reminds him painfully of that morning…but it also feels like second chances, as he crawls in beside him and tucks his face against the back of his neck. The chance to say what he should have said then.

It’s still awkward and difficult to make his mouth shape those words that he’s never said to anybody before in his life. But he forces it to, because it’s also a truth that he can’t run from, no matter how far he goes.

“I love you,” he whispers into his skin, his lips brushing against his nape. And then like those words break some dam inside him, he finds his fears pouring out of him like rushing water, suddenly on the verge of tears: “I’m so fucking in love with you but I don’t know what I’m doing, I want to be with you so bad but I’m going to fuck it up, I don’t know how to be somebody’s…”

“Ajay,” Pagan murmurs, not asleep at all. And when he says his name like that is when he knows for sure that things are going to be okay, that he didn’t fuck things up irreparably. This time, when he says his name it’s so full of warmth and forgiveness and something that may even be a kind of reverence, a whispered prayer. “Ajay. Shh, it’s all right…”

Pagan rolls over and reaches for him, fitting them together again all satiny and warm and the feel of his bare skin against his is like coming home too.

“I’m afraid you give me far too much credit, darling. Do you think I know anything about it either? How to be with someone? How to be what you need? I don’t. We’re both _assuredly _going to fuck up.” His eyes gaze into his, intense in the dim lamplight. “But when we do, remember what this feels like,” as he runs his hand along his belly and up to rest over his heart. “And this,” as he leans in and kisses him with aching tenderness, the first time since he came back. The touch of his lips never fails to cause that little fluttering jolt down in his belly. Eager for more, AJ runs a hand into his hair and tries to deepen it, but he holds him at bay with gentle hands.

“This too,” Pagan whispers against his lips, as he slides his thigh in between his and rocks against him softly for a moment, invoking a pleasured shiver that runs through both of them. “Don’t forget. Or forget how much I love you, when I inevitably piss you off. I’m a goddamn train wreck, my boy, and far too old for you, and not entirely…whole. Or possibly even sane.”

Despite his words, Pagan’s eyes gleam with sudden humor as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a little self-deprecating smile. “But I can be _your_ goddamn train wreck.”

“Mine,” he says, trying it out and liking how it sounds, it tastes.

“Yes, yours. Just…try to be patient with my bullshit, is all I ask. Patient with us both. I believe we can get it all figured out together.”

Unable to resist teasing him a little, AJ feigns wide-eyed surprise. “Wait, are you trying to ask me out? Be officially _dating,_ is that what you’re trying to get at?”

“Wretched boy,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes, and AJ is inordinately pleased at the way the tips of his ears go pink. “Only if the answer is yes. If it isn’t, I haven’t said a word and you’ll never fucking get me to admit otherwise.”

AJ pretends to think it over as he brushes a thumb across his earlobe, admiring how soft it is.

“Guess I’d better say yes then.”

Nonchalant words, but he whispers them with a kind of gravity, like a pact. The weight of them mixes with the fierce joy churning inside of him: _I love you, I love you so much._ He used to think he knew what that meant. To love somebody, to be in love…and then figured it just wasn’t for him, especially not in his line of work.

Turns out that, like a lot of things, he didn’t know jack shit about it, as he takes Pagan’s face in his hands.

Pagan gazes back at him soberly until whatever it is that he sees in AJ’s face has his softening, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners in delight. He wonders if his own expression might not resemble that look that Pagan often gives him, the one that he can never get enough of. Like he’s _everything,_ everything good in his world, as Pagan nuzzles his nose against his and presses their foreheads together.

“Beautiful boy,” Pagan sighs.

This time, when their mouths meet, Pagan gives him what he wants in a heated kiss that’s nearly as good as the very first one they shared.

“I love you,” he whispers into the warm air between them after they pull apart a little. Trying it out. While he suspects that it’s never going to be something that he can just throw out there casually, it’s already easier to say. “And I want to know _everything,_ everything about you…I guess there’s still a lot of shit we should talk about.”

“Mmhm, same.” Pagan’s flushed lips curve up in a tiny, contented smile, his eyes closed. “We will. But in the meantime, have you ever considered accountancy?”

AJ blinks. “…what?”

“If you’re still considering what to major in. Personally, I find such things to be stupefyingly _boring,_ but if it suits you it would be nice to have someone in charge of our money that I can trust.” He snorts in amusement. “Because that someone surely isn’t me.”

His mercurial leaps in logic are often hard to follow, but the idea of having a goal like that, something to work towards might go a long way towards helping him not feel so adrift. The idea of actually doing something useful and helpful with his time warms him.

So does that little _ours._

“Yeah, okay, but you’re gonna have to help me with this whole school thing,” he murmurs back. “I really don’t know shit about it, besides you have to apply and you need money to go. That was about as far as I managed to get.”

“I don’t know much about it myself, but we’ll get it all sorted out…tomorrow,” as he yawns and pulls away just enough to muffle it against his shoulder.

The promise of getting to wake up next to him in the morning, and then the morning after that and on and on burns bright in him. All the mornings, all the tomorrows. Agreeing to be together and moving in together on the same day is, admittedly, kind of nuts, but if it works for them, who gives a flying fuck? He’s right where he’s supposed to be. Both of them right where they’re supposed to be, together in this big bed. Warm and drowsy and fitting together just right.

AJ smiles against his hair.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

End

***

**Author's Note:**

> As always, questions/comments welcome!


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